Sh-Shopping Spree
by TheLastLynx
Summary: Draco loses a bet and has to visit a muggle sex shop. There, he runs into a certain brunette witch, shopping for supplies. Shaken by the episode, his nights are haunted by several strange and very sexy dreams. Can Draco make sense of it all? And what is Hermione's role in all of this? Lemons. PWP. WIP. ***Nominated for Best Fluff in the Beyond the Book FF Nook Awards***
1. Chapter 1: The Pearls

**Sh! Shopping Spree**

 **by**

 **TheLastLynx**

* * *

Draco sipped from his glass of 75—year—old Ogden's and glared at Blaise. Despite his long hours in the Ministry, his friend looked immaculate.

Of course, he did, vain bastard. He'd probably chosen the Chesterfield by the window for the sole reason that the light would bring out his cheekbones.

Tosser.

Draco flicked his wand, and the curtains snapped shut. The dim lighting in the Manor's drawing-room would make his own hair shine like a beacon. Draco smirked. _There._ Having a distinctive family feature was _such a help_ in maintaining an edge.

And he didn't have to work.

'—Nott's actually dating Parkinson!'

Draco swivelled his glass, the amber liquid sloshing against the finely cut crystal. 'What a load of rubbish!'

'It is true though. Seen it myself!'

Draco raised an eyebrow in response. Blaise leaned back and grinned. 'With my own eyes. Swear on my honour.'

A snort escaped Draco.

'All right.' Blaise grinned. His teeth were a glinting row of immaculate white in the dimly lit room. 'My mother's honour.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. The notion was utterly ridiculous. So why defend it?

'Look, Malfoy—' Blaise scooted to the edge of the seat and carelessly dropped his tumbler onto the coffee table. Draco's mouth twisted at the resounding clang. Mother would be extremely displeased if there was a single scratch on her beloved Marcel Breuer. He waved his wand to clean the couple of drops of firewhisky from the surface and levitated the edition of today's Daily Prophet onto the lower tier of the table, just to be safe.

'If you don't believe me, how about we make a little wager out of it?' Blaise said lightly, wholly unbothered by his carelessness towards the furniture.

Draco dragged his eyes from the mess between them. 'Don't be ridiculous, Zabini. I've known Nott my whole life; Parkinson, almost as long.' He pressed his lips together. 'For Merlin's sake, I dated the bint for the better part of fourth and fifth year. So, please,' he waved the hand with the tumbler dismissively around. 'I know for a fact that they hate each other.'

Blaise considered him for a long moment. His eyes shone in the firelight and it made Draco want to do...something. Extinguish the fire, for example, or jinx him, or maybe do both at once. But he had been taught to behave like a proper host, so he bit his tongue.

'Nott and Parkinson, what can I say—' Blaise began airily, lounging on the sofar, '—people do change. Our Hogwarts days have been over for…how long is it? Eight years?'

'Seven,' Draco said drily.

'Yes.' Blaise quirked his head; he seemed amused. 'Obviously, we've all changed.'

Draco's narrowed his eyes. Yes, there had been change, and not all for the worse — if one discounted the fact that he did not have anything better to do than spend his evenings with Blaise's antics or Theo's moaning if he didn't want to attend another of his mother's deadly boring tea parties or soirées. He sometimes wondered if working was actually as bad as Lucius made it out to be. But considering the outrage any discussion of that kind would provoke with his parents, Draco dutifully filled his days with the sort of nonsensical activity pure-bloods regarded as a superior use of one's time.

'Secondly,' Blaise continued and he draped himself further across the sofa as if he was some kind of Muggle fashion model, 'it wouldn't be the most surprising story of all times, would it?' His fingers caressed the leather upholstery and Draco began to wonder whether his friend was putting on a show and if so, for whose benefit exactly. 'This whole 'from enemies to lovers' thing is quite the classic, isn't it.' Blaise leaned even further back into the sofa and gesticulated to the room at large. 'Shakespearian even. Quintessentially English, one might say.'

Draco laughed hallowly. 'What nonsense. That's the stuff of romance novels, not bloody reality.'

'Oh, it is reality, I can tell you that!' Blaise crossed his legs. He was so brimming with self-satisfaction that the upper was bouncing up and down.

Draco scoffed and threw his friend his signature condescending look.

Wholly unaffected, Blaise busied himself with the coffee table between them. For whatever reason, he seemed to be fascinated with either the furniture or the decanter or the alcohol. But it was only for a moment, and then Blaise continued to make an absolute fool out of himself again. He held his glass up, and against the dim glow of the hearth, the liquid glowed like gold.

Even in the twilight, Draco had to admit that the reflections set off the dark skin of his friend unpleasantly well. _Bloody pansy._ His fingers pressed into the cold ridges and dents of the glass _._ But he would remain calm - which was another thing the bleeding war had taught him: the worst had already happened.

Despite it all, his irritation must have shown somehow because just then Blaise looked up at him again, mouth twitching from suppressed amusement. He leaned back into the leather seat and draped an arm over its rest, and Draco already felt his equanimity slipping. He took a healthy swig from his drink.

It was moments such as these that he wondered why on earth he put up with Blaise's antics to begin with. He definitely needed more alcohol for this. Pulling out his wand, he summoned the decanter back to him. He regarded its almost vanished contents with a frown. There was a secret stash in his father's study. Maybe if he sent Nobby, his mother wouldn't notice...

'Actually—' Blaise continued conversationally, '—I'm rather surprised you don't believe me. I would've thought you'd be the first to grasp just how dangerously close attraction and aversion can be.' His eyes flickered to the coffee table and back to Draco, and he smirked. There was that irritating look again. It made Draco's wand-hand itch.

'I haven't the slightest what you're on about,' Draco said down his nose.

Blaise just grinned like the smug fool that he was. Automatically, Draco lifted his chin in defiance.

'One word,' Blaise said. He looked pointedly at the coffee table between them. 'Granger.'

Draco stiffened in his seat, his hand going numb around his glass from his iron-fist grip. 'You've gone completely mad, Zabini.' He shifted in his seat, searching for a more comfortable position. 'I am _not_ in love with Granger.'

A log crunched in the hearth and a few golden sparks erupted into the air, briefly sparkling like minuscule stars and then disappearing into nothing.

Blaise leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands folded. His dark eyes were flashing in the crepuscule, and he grinned triumphantly. 'I never said anything about love.'

'And neither am I _secretly_ attracted to her.' Draco sneered like he hadn't in years. His fist was clenched so tightly around the crystal material that his knuckles were starting to hurt.

Blaise just chuckled. He was still lounging on the sofa like an utter prat, and Draco felt an overwhelming need to put his wand to use. There were a couple of ancient jinxes he had recently discovered in one of Grandmother's tomes. Maybe they ought to be tried out…

He sat up straight, righting his already perfect posture. 'Why on earth would I be attracted to that buck-toothed, bushy-haired, stuck-up bitch?' His voice cracked like a whip through the drawing-room. The fire crackled in the hearth, shadows and flickers of light were dancing across the room like spectres. The blood was whooshing in his ears, and the crystal glass felt slippery in his clammy hands. They were itching to use his wand.

He drowned the last of his drink.

Blaise tapped a finger lightly against his quivering lips. 'It's interesting you would say that since we both know that Granger's days as the ugly duckling have long since passed.'

Draco's eye twitched. 'I do not know any such thing.'

Blaise stared at him blankly. He blinked once, twice. Slowly, his gaze slid over to the piece of furniture between them. Draco's eyes followed, reluctantly.

There lay today's issue of the _Daily Prophet_ , neatly folded in half just below where Hermione Granger was smiling from the title page, even-toothed and smartly dressed in Ministry robes, a stack of files tucked under her arm. Draco's head snapped up, heat spreading like shame through his body.

'Yes,' Blaise said casually, dark eyes flashing, 'it's awfully hard to keep track, these days.'

Draco's fingers pressed against his tumbler almost violently were going numb. 'She could be bloody Circe for all I care,' he spat. He shifted in his seat to cross his legs. 'She'll always be a Mu—' Blaise's eyebrows shot up, '—uggle—loving, self-righteous, stuck-up bitch to me.' Uncrossing his legs again, he jerked forward to slam his glass onto the table, caring very little about comportment or his mother's obsession with furniture or any of that superficial nonsense.

 _Who did Blaise think he was?_

'NODDY!'

There was a crack and a middle-aged house-elf appeared, smartly dressed in a simple linen suit, embroidered with the Malfoy crest.

'Yes, Master Draco,' he said with a calm and deep voice, bowing so deep that his long, pointy nose almost touched the polished wooden floor.

'Bring me the firewhisky in my father's study. Without my mother noticing,' he barked. 'Please,' he added, almost softly.

'Right away, Master Draco.'

There was a plop and the elf disappeared.

Feeling considerably better, Draco settled back into his comfortable chair and regarded Blaise with an arched eyebrow as if nothing had happened.

Just for a second, his friend's expression wavered; to Draco's great irritation it resembled pity of all things. But in the blink of an eye, it the moment had passed, and Blaise was once again the vision of the bored, pure-blooded, pretty boy, lounging in his seat, one arm draped over the rest, fingers caressing the leather. 'Righto. People stay enemies forever. Therefore, Parkinson and Nott can't possibly be "an item", as it were?'

Draco's eye twitched. 'Precisely.'

'If you're so sure,' Blaise said after a pause, leaning so far into the sofa that he seemed to disappear into the piece, 'I don't see why you're quite so opposed to a friendly little wager.'

Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise really was a fool if he actually believed that. He himself met Theo practically every other day. And even though their last meeting at the Manor had been a while ago, his memory of the event was vivid and crystal clear — not least because Pansy had been there as well, and Theo wouldn't stop moaning about her.

' _Ugh. Don't get me started on Pansy and her screeching banshee voice,' Theo had complained then, 'By Merlin, Draco, why on earth you went to the Yule Ball with that hideous little pug face is really beyond me. You weren't that desperate then, were you?' He aggressively stabbed his rare tenderloin steak, blood squirting from the sides. Draco opened his mouth to answer but Nott intercepted. 'She always pouts her lips like so,' he made a squishy face and grimaced, 'as if she's out to snog the first poor chap who won't resist. Bloody nuisance, that.'_

 _It continued in a similar fashion all through dessert.._

 _'Why did Narcissa invite her again?' Theo said, aggressively licking the rest of his chocolate soufflé from his spoon. 'Gosh. Can't we have a gathering to ourselves, just once? Just look at that obnoxious witch.' Theo had glared at Pansy who was wearing a little black dress and standing next to the fireplace, giggling at someting Narcissa had said. He choked. 'Makes me want to bloody heave. Always stalking about in those ridiculous storky legs of hers—' He then gulped down the rest of his digestif in visible agony._

Blaise clapped into his hands and Draco almost jumped in his seat. 'So! About that wager then—'

'You've completely lost it, haven't you. Makes me wonder how you find witches that are still willing to bed you — seeing as the ones you _did_ shag, you've obviously all _irritated_ to death.'

'Ah, do I smell envy?' Blaise grinned slyly. 'You only say so because you're too stuck up to know what to do with a witch, even if one lay ready and starkers in your bed every day of the week. No wonder you only have a go at it once a year; that probably exhausts your repertoire as it is. I bet you could learn a thing or two, _especially_ from my,' Blaise made a meaningful pause, ' _Irritating_ self.'

Draco gnawed his teeth. Forget host duties; Blaise Zabini needed to be put in his place.

'So?' Blaise aked, his eyes glinting.

Draco watched his friend closely, waiting for something that would expose his bluff. But the only thing Blaise exhibited was his utterly annoying behaviour of lounging about as if he wasn't anything other than a bored-to-death ministry minion.

Yes, Blaise definitely needed a reminder of his place in the world, and this was the perfect opportunity for it. Draco was absolutely sure about Theo and Pansy, not least because he genuinely sympathised with Theo's situation. Some people just riled you up, and the only thing to deal with it was to get it out of your system, even if that meant complaining about them for hours on end.

In desperate need for another drink, Draco glanced around the room for the Whisky he had asked. There was no Noddy to be seen, only the empty crystal sitting on the table, taunting him with _that_ Prophet front cover. He cursed himself internally for not having thrown it out right away. Yet another reason why there was a point to be made.

So Draco nodded sharply.

'Marvellous.' Blaise clapped into his hands. 'If I'm right, what should I have you do?' He tapped his finger against his quirked lips, never taking his eyes from Draco. 'Oh, the options, oh, the options…'

Blaise's giddy excitement made Draco thirst for preemptive revenge. An idea struck and he had to contain himself not to laugh out loud.

'Well, Zabini,' Draco started and relaxed into his chair, his leg slightly bouncing in anticipation, 'since you're so confident about your appeal to the ladies, and seeing how _dedicated_ you are to blood equality, I think it would be a lovely idea if you sought out the Weasel girl and asked her out, Potty or no Potty. And while we're at it, why don't you do it after one of her Quidditch matches? It'd be _such_ a shame if you didn't have an audience. After all,' Draco smirked sardonically, 'we _all could learn a thing or two_.'

'Feeling a bit devious, are we, Malfoy?' Blaise grinned, his impeccable teeth flashing in the crepuscule. 'Well… I'm certainly _thrilled_ you're feeling so inspired. Let's see if I can think of something that lives up to that…' Blaise turned his head fixing his gaze on the sweltering fire. Absentmindedly, he reached for the whiskey carafe, and tried — unsuccessfully — to replenish his drink. With a purse of his lips he put the stopper back onto the empty decanter — when suddenly his shoulders stiffened. He lifted his head and fixed his glittering eyes on Draco, a dangerous grin slowly spreading over his face.

'Oh, my dear Draco, you are going to _looove_ this.'

* * *

Seething, Draco marched through Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. He could not believe it.

How was this _possible_?

Were they _blind_?

Was _he_ blind?

His fist clenched around the umbrella as he thought about the total and utter catastrophe of a meeting the night before.

The four of them had been at Blaise's, and it was clear from the very start that Theo and Pansy were, incredibly, ridiculously, an item. It had been almost revolting, really; the constant touching and blushing and giggling… I had made Draco itch for his wand to perform…he didn't know what exactly. A countercurse of some sort might've been a good idea. Or an obliviation spell.

Unfortunately, the hard truth was that this was the reality, strange though as it seemed to him. Theo, despite being obviously nervous, was clearly besotted with Pansy; an uncharacteristically giddy Pansy behaved like a giggling schoolgirl; and Blaise who did sod all to hide his gloating didn't even bat an eye at their ridiculous behaviour.

What a bloody fucking disaster.

With a sharp nod, Draco acknowledged the proprietor, Tom, who stood slightly gaping behind the counter — probably stunned at the sight of the Malfoy scion in Muggle attire. Draco lifted his chin. In long strides he crossed the pub, which already exhibited its characteristic assortment of strange customers; some were sipping on their morning cuppas ahead of a day of shopping in Diagon Alley, while others were already nursing their drinks at eleven in the morning. He ignored half a dozen bewildered glances thrown his way and stepped through the door, onto the busy streets of Muggle London.

It was an uncharacteristically sunny day for this time of the year, so he kept his black umbrella close, tightly gripped in his left hand. Turning towards Charing Cross station, he was immediately swallowed by the non–magical masses. For probably the thousandth time today, he cursed Blaise under his breath for making him do this the Muggle way.

While he was waiting for the Northern Line to arrive, Draco's thoughts drifted back to Theo and Pansy.

 _How did this happen?_

Through all those years, how could he not have noticed that Theo and Pansy had – _apparently_ – carried a flame for one another?

That, at least, had been Blaise's explanation. Draco shifted from one leg to the other. Merlin, they had practically grown up together. How could they spend hours upon hours with each other, yet apparently Theo fancying Pansy fuckin Parkinson had never come up, not even once?

 _Was he that shit at being a friend? What a fucking depressing thought._

Draco's mind flitted to Astoria, who had said something dangerously similar when she had broken off things with him. But it was so long he ago, he couldn't seem to recall her precise wording...

The train arrived, and Draco made to find a seat from whence he could best observe the stations. Tough it was far from his first time in Muggle London, he was not keen on wasting an extra hour just because he'd missed his stop.

The train jumped into action, the rhythmic rattling drowning out the excitable chit chat of the impending weekend. More or less comfortably seated, Draco reviewed the conversations he'd had with Theo in the past. Pansy had never come up as a love interest; then again, she had been ubiquitous — even if it had been mostly Theo complaining about her.

The inevitable question was this: _Was he in love with her then already?_

It couldn't be — could it?

Surely not. After all, Draco knew perfectly well that when an annoying female irritated one to death, one _had_ to get if off one's chest to achieve _some_ peace of mind.

It was just the same with him and Granger, and he was _certainly not_ in love with _that stuck-up prissy little twit_.

Draco concluded that Theo had to have fallen in love with Pansy some other time. _Flawless logic_ , he thought smugly to himself.

Still, his reasoning did barely lessen his irritation at having lost the bet.

He wondered idly if it had been the post-war isolation that had brought them together. Lord knew that the loneliness drove everyone batty — if it didn't make you an alcoholic. He should probably ask them next time, instead of sulking into his goblet for half an hour, and then fleeing the scene because he couldn't stand Zabini's gloating.

 _Fucking Zabini._

After a half an hour ride which Draco spent alternatingly between wallowing in his misery and coming up with an act of revenge, the bustling masses of weekend shoppers swooped him out of Old Street station and onto the vibrating streets of Hackney. Clutching his wand buried deep in the pocket of his trench coat, he took a moment to orient himself, and then made his way down the busy main street.

As soon as he reached the slightly less hectic area of brick buildings and cobblestone streets of Shoreditch, he felt for the tiny piece of parchment holding the address of the establishment he was seeking. He was right.

Draco strode into the alley, eyeing his surroundings in search for his destination, continuously cursing Blaise under his breath.

As soon as he passed several curtained shop windows, he immediately knew he had arrived. The tall brownstone house had elegant white casement windows on the ground floor; white curtains kept anything that was going on inside private. Above his head, a purple banner jerked in the soft midday breeze. Its white pattern, ominously contouring a graceful female body, almost appeared to be lolling seductively.

 _Well then_ , Draco thought nastily, _That's where that twat finds all those willing women._

His annoyance with his friend for making him do Muggle things was at an all-time high; however, none of his vicious thoughts was quite able to shut down the nervous fluttering in his stomach.

If he _could_ have, he would've turned on his heel in an instant and gone straight back down the streets he had just come from.

 _Well… fuck._

Probably for the first time after the war, Draco cursed the powers of magic. What an utterly silly and reckless thing to have done.

He dutifully ignored that he, too, utterly convinced of his impending victory, had insisted on securing the bet with the Unbreakable Vow.

 _Well, that went well, now, did it._ Draco grimaced. Maybe it was time to revisit his attitude from time to time. This was another example in a long line of instances where his sense of superiority had actually made everything worse...

The point was, there was no turning back. Draco grimaced and turned around the corner in search for the entrance.

Two letters and an exclamation point announced the object of his trepidation in paradoxical innocence:

 _ **Sh!**_

 _Sh–shite_ , Draco thought grimly.

One last time, he nervously glanced up and down the alleyway to make sure there was absolutely no one he recognised. Or, rather, that there was absolutely no one who recognised _him_.

Draco pushed his wand deep into his pocket and squared his shoulders.

 _It's just a little harmless shopping, anyway._

He schooled his features and entered the building, just as the distant ringing of a church bell heralded that it was noon.

* * *

The dainty tinkling of a shop bell announced his presence. Whatever Draco had expected, this was certainly not it.

The ground floor room was bright and lofty and positively glowing in the immaculate whiteness of its walls; the soft brown of the wooden floors and shelves gave an air of hominess, and an elegant seating group of baroque–styled armchairs grouped around a modern coffee table welcomed the customer into the establishment.

The modern, professional environment would have calmed his out-of-control nerves – had it not been for the goods on display.

Draco swallowed heavily.

Out of the corner of his eye, on his left, he noticed several books. He turned and was gobsmacked: _Smart Girl's Guide to Porn_ , _Ultimate Guide to Orgasm for Women_ , _Best Bondage Erotica_ , _She Comes First_ , _Clitology_ …

Circe.

But there was more, and his mouth ran dry. His eyes were caught by shelves upon shelves of outrageously naughty… stuff. Next to the comparatively modest bottles of lubricant in different sizes there were vibrators, in various extravagant colours and forms, exhibited on the walls as if they were design objects.

Oh, Circe.

At the far end of the room, his attention was finally caught by a curvy table displaying several toys for… _fuck_ … not viewing pleasure, surely?

He couldn't prevent the heat from rising in his cheeks.

'Hullo!'

A friendly, raspy voice with a slight Cockney accent snapped Draco out of his descent into a panic, and reminded him of the task at hand.

'Welcome to Sh! Nice day, innit?' The woman flashed Draco a warm, dimpled smile. 'Ohh, you look a bit flushed, luv. Are you alrigh'? Fancy a drink?'

'Er… a... er… drink?' Draco stuttered, and his inability to form a sentence made his face heat even more.

'Coffee? Tea? Some bubbly? Wha'ever you like, darling.'

The shop assistant was a curvy woman, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. Draco noticed several intricate, geometrically shaped tattoos on her olive skin peeking out of the edges of her flowy hot pink dress with dainty floral patterns. Her straight black hair was pulled into a messy bun onto her head, but her left temple was almost shaved bald. The fierceness of her appearance contrasted sharply with her girly attire and bubbly attitude. Draco felt himself relax.

'I'll...er... I'll take the alcohol, thank you.'

The woman sniggered quietly to herself and disappeared to fetch his drink. He had barely enough time to gather his scattered wits and think of how to broach the subject at hand, when she promptly reappeared at his side, a long-stemmed glass with a sparkling pink liquid in hand.

Draco almost jumped out of his skin

'There yer go, darlin'. You've never been here before, have you?' She smiled at him and placed Draco's umbrella in the umbrella stand at the entrance.

Busy sipping on his drink, he shook his head no and almost spluttered the contents over his pale blue ribbed twill shirt.

Draco almost scowled. He needed to get a grip on himself; he didn't want to make Blaise's victory even more perfect.

If the shop assistant noticed his embarrassment, she certainly did not show it. 'I'm Zara. And…'

She threw him a questioning look. Draco, who was preoccupied gathering his wits to come up with a proper explanation of what he wanted, didn't react.

'... you must be the friend of Mr Zabini's! He's called ahead.'

His half-constructed excuse crumpled, and Draco felt his face heat again.

'Well, as he's probably told you, Sh! only admits male customers when accompanied by a lady. You know, to build a safe environment for our shoppers.' He smiled.

How lovely. Now he had to put up with one of Zabini's bints on top of everything else.

'Your lucky, your companion is already here but a bit busy with a little shopping of her own, so might I help you with anything in particular in the meantime?'

Draco hesitated, trying to reconstruct his half-arsed backstory.

'Are you… looking for something for yourself? For a… girlfriend? A boyfriend..?' The woman probed gently.

Draco coughed into his glass. 'No! No, no, boyfriend!' He spluttered, probably with a little too much vigour, as Zara raised a carefully groomed eyebrow. 'Not that there's anything wrong with… er…. No… also, err… no girlfriend. No,' he added hastily.

Fuck all! He needed to get a grip on himself. Even if Blaise had tasked him with the most embarrassing thing he could think of. It shouldn't be too hard to learn about the female orgasm, and buy at least two gadgets and one book to show for it, right?

'I'm… errr… I actually, sort of, erm…, you see…' Squinting his eyes in concentration, Draco desperately summoned all the courage he had to get on with the assigned task.

Why was this harder than speaking to fucking Voldemort?

'I sort of... er… want to... err… try something new. So, I… err, wanted to maybe explore the potentials of… err… Female pleasure..?' Mortified, he flushed.

Zara smiled at him sympathetically. 'You want to improve your orgasm–giving skills?'

'Yes!' Draco exhaled in relief, quietly hoping that Zabini would not think to ask for the memory. He had been already been infuriatingly patronising when he'd explained his wager. 'It's all very educational, you know. And Lord knows you could use some help on that front. Besides,' and Draco distinctly remembered the devilish glint in the eyes of his friend,' one never knows what might come of it.'

Draco had no doubts that, of course, all of this was to push his potential embarrassment to the extreme. Why else would Blaise have sent him to this particular Muggle shop at the other end of London on a Saturday at noon when most people were out doing their weekend shopping? He didn't even want to think about just how many witches and wizards might have spotted him blundering about Muggle London.

However, Zara regarded him with appreciation. 'That's a fantastic idea! And you've certainly come to the right place for that!' She turned and considered the bookshelves for a moment. 'We can either go about this theoretically or practically or with a combination of both. Would you prefer to inform yourself about the female orgasm and the techniques to bring a woman to climax? We have several books on the topic. Or were you rather thinking of stocking up on toys and material to help with a more hands-on approach.' Zara gave a throaty chuckle, obviously enjoying her own joke.

Draco relaxed slightly.

'Uhm... both... would be best, I suppose? What use is all the theory if I can't put it to use, right?'

'Absolutely right.'

Zara handed him a dainty lace and leather shopping basket and led him to the far end of the room. After briefly explaining the history of the shop and how it originally had been dedicated to giving women a safe and tasteful space to explore their sexuality, she elaborated on the importance of lubrication. Apparently, even if aroused, women sometimes did not lubricate enough to enjoy penetration or vice versa.

'It's called "arousal non–concordance" , and of course it's not a gender-specific occurrence. But as a man, you probably know that. It's rather fascinating, really, how out of sync our bodily responses can be with our feelings, or intellectual reasoning, don't you think?'

Draco gulped. Despite Zara's rather scientific approach, he felt quite overwhelmed. This shop would be Granger's dream, he thought sardonically. Or wet dream, rather. He sniggered devilishly.

Zara went on. 'And this doesn't just apply to sexuality. I mean, probably everyone has this one kink or harbours that secret attraction for someone. And even though we can't stop thinking about them, we don't dare act on our impulses, simply because we are somehow conditioned to perceive the act as wrong, be it for ethical, social, religious, or even political reasons.'

Draco felt very caught and chased the witch out his thoughts. It used to be so much easier to dislike her…

He took a healthy swig of his rosé.

'Anway… what I meant to say is, communication is key during any kind of sexual activity. Consent is crucial.'

After a brief discussion about protection - of course, Draco did not know what 'condoms' were; but since they resembled horrid little penis socks, he was content using the potions Snape had taught them -, Zara handed him a rather large bottle of water-based lubricant, to make sure he didn't run out quite too quickly.

Draco placed it into his basket, thinking that he should ask Blaise if there was a spell or a potion equivalent, ignoring the vicious part of his brain questioning the probability of running out of lube any time soon.

Draco scowled at his subconscience and, taking another large gulp, finished his drink. Before he'd even realised it, Zara had gone and returned with a second glass of wine, filled to the brim.

'Right,' she said and pushed the drink into his hand, contents swirling dangerously.

Draco felt rather light-headed, but he still took a cautious sip to prevent the contents from spilling.

'So, how do you feel about toys in the bedroom? Have you ever considered that sort of thing?'

Zara led him over to the round table with the exhibited sex toys. She continued to elaborate on the merits of toys for couples, the different kinds of stimulation for women, and how vibrators, plugs, or dildos affected the female anatomy differently.

 _Fuck_.

Draco swallowed; his ears felt like they were burning bright red from mortification — and it only got worse due to the fact that he was ever more mortified at his own mortification.

He despised the fact that Blaise had landed such a punch; he despised even more that he was made to feel like such a schoolboy again. But at the back of his mind, a sense of irritation at his own proper upbringing started to grow. He realised that his introduction to… sex had been quite stuck-up, and unreasonably so.

What exactly was the issue with ensuring that the act was enjoyable for all participants?

His fingers felt a little slippery around the glass, and he tightened his grip on the stem, forcing his entire attention on Zara. Her exceptionally matter–of–fact manner was incredibly helpful.

Who cared if Blaise had been right? He was here, so he ought to get his Galleons worth out of the experience. Also, he'd rather Avada himself than make his friend's victory any sweeter than it already was.

Feeling the lightness of a resolution made, he took another nip.

Blaise was an utter wanker for exploiting his weakness about having such… bad luck with the witches. After all, how was it his bloody fault that being a former Death Eater was not exactly the greatest turn–on?

If, however, he soaked up all the knowledge and worked on his seduction skills, wouldn't that be a brilliant way of re-establishing his reputation?

Draco grinned secretly to himself, already imagining himself with a never-ending stream of female admirers that would rival even Blaise's.

So when Zara launched into the merits of anal play, and how satisfying this could be not only for a woman — proper preparation and lubrication provided, of course — Draco nodded along and only his ears felt slightly warm. He picked a rather stylish spindly metal toy from the rack; apparently, it was applicable for both male and female pleasure points. He also placed a pair of smaller silicon butt plugs in his basket.

'Remember, preparation is key. Also, a lot of women say that they prefer anal penetration when they are really, really horny. So, if your woman has never had it up her bum you might want to try this after you've already given her several climaxes.'

Draco swallowed heavily.

Several climaxes?

Unwittingly his mind conjured the vague image of a brunette witch writhing in pleasure beneath him, while he was feasting on her lower lips, gushing with her arousal, playing with her engorged…

'Speaking of which,' Zara interrupted his wandering thoughts, and Draco coughed awkwardly. He gulped down some more of the rosy liquid.

'There is an art to giving and experiencing multiple orgasms. Most women think they can't achieve them because the clitoral glans can get overstimulated rather quickly. However, it all depends on the techniques of arousal.'

Overstimulation? Fuck. He'd always assumed that touching a witch… there… in her centre... equalled pleasure.

Zara now launched into a whole discourse about the anatomy of the vulva and clitoris; how the latter was far too often reduced to the clitoral glans; how the major part of the organ was in fact not visible; and how the whole organ changed when aroused. She made a point that direct stimulation to the glans could be too much – or even painful – for a lot of women, and therefore a partner should take good care of the whole vaginal area, seeing as the organ was far larger than generally believed. Finally, she elaborated on the types of orgasms a woman could achieve.

Draco suppressed the impulse to whip out quill and parchment. He was almost as bad as Granger, wasn't he. He froze, realising that he had thought of her _again_.

He definitely did not want to associate sex with Granger. What was wrong with him. Ugh.

He took a healthy swig. And another, for good measure.

To keep his mind from wandering, he asked the shop assistant for more details about the clitoral area, about the differences between clitoral and vaginal orgasm, and what she meant by G–Spot stimulation. Zara explained a great deal more about what was originally called the Gräfenberg spot and showed him the types of hand motions and body positions that were beneficial. Picking one of the books from the shelves Draco had been looking at earlier, she fleshed out her points by showing him several graphs and illustrations.

The book wandered into the basket.

'You know, every now and then, we offer men–only classes on female pleasure. Unfortunately, tonight's seminar is already full, but if you wouldn't mind leaving us your email we can notify you as soon as we've set a date for the next one.'

She now steered Draco towards a staircase that presumably led to another shop room in the basement. Not quite sure what an 'email' was, he simply mumbled his appreciation and followed her.

The downstairs room was very similar to the one upstairs, although the items appeared to be distinctly kinkier. His gaze fell onto black feathers and masks, and then onto a vitrine that exhibited nipple clamps, different kinds of intimate jewellery, collars, as well as a variety of floggers, ticklers, and whips.

While the upstairs had a more classy appeal, the downstairs definitely was all about the closeted desires.

Like lace and leather, Draco thought, tasting his drink.

His gaze wandered to the right. At the far side of the room several more immaculately white illuminated shelves displayed smaller, tinted bottles, different coloured floggers and paddles, masks and feathers, as well as copious amounts of boxes and toys.

A slim blonde woman also holding a glass of rosé stood next to a basket filled to the brim with what looked like a sea of lace. A metallic twinkle gave away that there had to be some erotic jewellery, too.

'Hi Steph,' Zara greeted the woman, who acknowledged both of them with a friendly nod, and turned her attention back to the book in her hand.

Draco's interest, however, was caught by the long wall of the room that almost drowned in the sensual black of lace and ruffles.

Lingerie.

Draco swallowed.

He made out several garter belts and matching knickers, negligees, corsets, and teddies, as well as a whole variety of thigh–high stockings.

His Hogwarts days had certainly made him value the appeal of thigh–high stockings. There was just something about an attire that could be prim and proper in one moment, but was the naughtiest, most sensual piece of clothing the next. Immediately, Draco's mind conjured the image of a young woman bent over a cauldron, long legs in stockings, a school uniform skirt riding up her shapely bum, and no knickers to keep his exploring hands away.

But it was another piece, that ultimately captured his attention. As if in a trance, Draco approached the wall, deposited his glass on a wooden table, and reached for the soft fabric of a sheer black dress.

Two broad strips of intricately patterned lace were draped over either side of the bust just so that it would cover the breasts of its bearer. Criss–crossed satin strands adorned the deep, plunging neckline. A beaded detail swung dangerously to and fro, and he could easily imagine those black pearls adorning the valley between the tits. The streams of lace flowed down the length of the dress to merge in a V–shape just where he imagined the crotch to be. Two satin strips on either side framed the lace and ended in suspenders, presumably to hold stockings.

Draco's fingers wandered over the uneven but soft material. He could only imagine just how exquisitely it would frame the swelling and dipping of a female body.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' Zara walked up to stand next to him, and pulled the garment from the rack to present it approvingly.

'It's exquisite,' Draco mumbled. He couldn't quite make out why exactly he felt so affected. Maybe this dress connected to one of the repressed erotic desires Zara had spoken of earlier.

'A masquerade dress. It actually comes with a matching thong, stockings, and, most importantly, a mask. It's a hit with the ladies. And gents,' she added with a chuckle. 'Oh yes, the art of seduction might just be the most important part of sex. After all, every orgasm starts in your head.'

Still stunned, Draco followed Zara to a shelving unit that divided the room. Picking up the tinted bottles, she elaborated on the merits of massage oil as a means to both relax and stimulate a partner.

Draco took the last sip from his glass and studied the different flasks of various scents. while Zara brought up feather ticklers that were a way of exploiting the heightened sensuality.

Fascinated by the edible oil, Draco studied a chocolate-flavoured one. He sniffed at an opened bottle and scrunched his nose. It smelled stale and pungent and had none of the typical velvety richness. He wondered if this, too, had a magical equivalent. He'd imagine that a more realistic version could blow anyone's socks off.

He quietly mused if one could even equip the oil with sensual properties. Wouldn't it be fun to have the effect of both the feather tickler and the oil rolled into one? He definitely needed to look into magical erotic products. For research puporses, a few coloured peacock feathers and an array of edible oils wandered into his shopping basket.

He was so absorbed by his thoughts that he only noticed that Zara had temporarily disappeared when another refill was pushed into his hand. He looked up, just when there was a slight commotion on his left.

The blonde woman who had been reading a massive book (Draco could now make out that it was _Breaking the Arrow. A Brief History of Forgotten Sexual Technique_ by Alistair Fowley), when a small door he had not noticed opened just a crack.

The woman looked up and deposited the book into the basket at her feet. A muffled female voice sounded from the other side of the door.

'Erm, Steph, would you mind taking a look at this?'

While Steph stepped over to the door leading, apparently, to a changing room, Draco glanced over to the almost bursting shopping basket. What had previously appeared to be a sea of lace, he now made out to be a variety of black knickers, and seamed stockings in satin and silk. Amongst several packets he was able to distinguish black open bottom knickers with a bow, as well as a see-through lace garter skirt. The metallic glint he had noted previously stemmed from a body–chain waist, a few sets of sparkly nipple–jewellery, as well as a pearl thong.

Draco's mouth ran dry. Yet, he was unable to look away. The basket clearly belonged to the person in the changing room, whereas the other woman - Steph - had to be another shop assistant. Glancing at the brimming basket, he wondered idly what the sort of modern woman might look like who'd shop in a shop like this. Curious, he craned his neck to inspect the contents more closely, particularly to see if there were any toys. Sadly, the ridiculously large tome about historical sex very effectively shielded the contents from his prying eyes.

But judging from all appearances, the basket belonged to a woman who was very sure of her sexuality. This he could definitely tell. Whoever she was going home to, was, without a doubt, a very lucky; she probably was someone Zabini would love to entertain.

'No, darling, I don't think your too curvy at all; it perfectly flatters your body shape. Actually, you look bloody hot! I think you should take it! I mean, I'd shag you right away.' Steph chuckled.

Draco's face burned. Oh God, a lesbian. Of course, there had to be a catch to such a woman. It was silly that he had been intrigued by the contents of her shopping basket alone, seeing as she was a Muggle, too. He cursed his wandering mind and returned his attention to the edible oil.

Four bottles found their way into the basked. He chuckled at the ridiculous puns that made up their indications: Creamy Vanilla, Popping Cherry, Mellow Melons, Luscious Lychees. There had to be a way to improve them with magic.

He grinned. How very Malfoy of him, going into a sex shop because of a bet and returning with a business idea.

Walking around the room divider towards the far end of the room and the parked basket, he was intrigued by several more anal toys. They resembled small, neon-coloured stoppers, only, they had remote controls. Draco picked up one of the boxes to inspect the instructions when behind a door opened and closed.

'Ah, thanks so much, Steph,' a pleasant female voice said.

The other woman had, finally, vacated the changing room.

Turning to see who she was, Draco's attention was immediately caught by the unbelievably erotic dress he had been gushing over earlier which now made its way out into the room. The young woman carrying the garment, and who – just seconds ago – had been wearing the naughty piece, was a young woman in an understated yet contemporary look: a pearly white lace top peeped out of a black leather jacket, long legs were draped into tight, washed-grey jeans over smart black lace shoes.

Under normal circumstances, Draco would have complimented her; after all, she was a very attractive woman. Right this second, however, his brain must have suffered a stroke because all he managed to do was to gape.

Embarrassment, shock, inebriation, and – oh, God – arousal, he simply stood there like an utter idiot, staring at the woman with wild, brunette hair who calmly walked into the room.

The room under his feet titled. With a shivering hand, he reached out and held on to one of the shelves. He felt dizzy, disoriented, dumbstruck. He really should have been more careful with the wine.

'Ah, hello there, Malfoy. I was starting to think you'd chickened out,' she said matter–of–factly and placed the nefarious dress into her bursting shopping basket.

Fuck.

Granger. Fuck.

Hermione Granger.

Hermione fucking Granger was the companion Zabini had sent.

Hermione fucking Granger _KNEW_ about out the bloody fucking bet!

 _BLOODY FUCKING ZABINI WILL BLOODY–_

'Mhhhh… I see you're about to discover the pleasures of prostate stimulation.' Granger eyed the butt plug in Draco's hands approvingly and glanced at the several other anal toys he'd already selected. 'Good choice. Although I was under the impression that Blaise had tasked you with learning about female pleasure.' She arched an eyebrow and grinned playfully. 'But I _do_ enjoy the ones you have there,' and she pointed at the neon green anal toy in his hands.

Draco felt his head spinning. 'You do?' was all he managed out. He woodenly dropped the toys into his basket.

Just then, Zara returned once again with a brimming glass.

'There you go, darling. Ah, Mione, did you take the dress then? Really lovely, innit. Draco was quite taken with it as well.' She gave Hermione a meaningful look.

'Was he now?' Granger picked up her basket and smirked mischievously at him. 'I never knew you swung that way, Malfoy.'

'Do not!' Draco exclaimed scandalised, finally finding his voice again. But he still felt dizzy.

He had an exceptionally hard time coming to terms with the present situation. As if everything wasn't bad enough, unbidden images of the swot extraordinaire in the sexy dress were starting to drown his unruly mind. Images of Granger in those lacy things. Granger strutting about in crotchless knickers. Granger sitting at her Ministry desk wih no knickers at all. Granger holding the vibrator against…

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Slowly, the spinning sensation started to fade. He really had indulged a bit too much.

'Relax, Malfoy, I'm just teasing. I for one think it's brilliant you're exploring female sexuality. Even if Blaise pushed you to do it.'

Before Draco even knew what to respond to that, she bowed to inspect his basket. She picked out the book Clitology. 'Fantastic choice. It's a great introduction to everything you need to know, and not just concerning the anatomy of the clitoris.' She nodded approvingly.

'Yes, Zara helped me with my… er… shopping.'

'Oh, Zara, I adore her. She actually teaches some of the courses for men, did she tell you.'

Zara and Steph had suspiciously disappeared from the room. So Draco could just stand there feeling very awkward as Granger shamelessly rifled through his acquired goods.

'Oh, she also gave you lube… there's a basic spell for that, you know. And a couple of fantastic potions…' Rummaging through the contents she held up one of the bottles containing the edible oil. 'Interesting, I've never actually tried these.' She nodded appreciatively. 'Now, the only thing's missing is…' she put the item back and added a black mask and feather tickler. 'There you go. And if you want to fluster Blaise go show him these,' she chuckled. Draco just watched incredulously as Hermione walked over to one of the racks, picked out a set of nipple clamps, and unceremoniously dropped them into the shopping basket. 'There, all set. What do you say?' She smiled proudly up at him.

Draco's mind was slowly starting to work again. 'Forgive me for being rude but what in Merlin's name are you doing here, Granger?'

She looked at him, thoroughly puzzled. 'I'm your female companion, of course. And doing some shopping of my own, obviously.'

'Don't be daft, you know what I mean. What do you have to do with Blaise? Why did he send you of all people?'

Granger considered him for a moment. 'As you're probably aware, we both work in the ministry. We've worked together a couple of times. I think it was last autumn, we were cooperating on a case in Non-Magical Relations last autumn, when he happened to stumble over my copy of Clitology I've lent one of my colleagues It was a silly story, I'll tell you another time. ended up discussing sexual education, and sexuality in general, you know, such as female empowerment, and reclaiming your sensuality and the like, and that's how I came to show him this place. He's been here a couple of times with me; he even visited one of the seminars, I think-'

'Zabini went to a course?' Draco blurted out. What a turn of events. 'Do you know which one?'

'I never asked him,' she said distractedly and quickly made towards the staircase. Draco grinned. Maybe he ought to practise his Legilimancy next time Blaise got blotto at his.

He picked up his basket and followed Granger upstairs.

Standing at the cash desk, Draco watched with wide eyes alluring garment after alluring garment wandering into Granger's shopping bags. How had the bushy-haired know-it-all teacher's pet he had known at school had grown into this confident and attractive woman?

As a set of handcuffs disappeared in the tote, and Draco inhaled sharply. He suddenly remembered what Zara had observed earlier: Everyone has a certain desire that one can't stop thinking about. Apparently, Granger was very in touch with hers.

Long after the purchases were made and paid for, after they had said their goodbyes and thank yous, and after he and Granger had parted ways, amicably even, Draco was still totally and utterly overwhelmed.

He sat on the Muggle train lost in thought, oblivious to the hectic surroundings, and reflected on this very strange Saturday adventure. He started wondering about Blaise. How very peculiar that he had been at _Sh!_ ; numerous times even, according to Granger. Now that he thought about it, he realised that Granger had never actually answered why exactly Blaise had picked her to accompany him. Did he, once again, was missing what was going on in his friend's life? Were Blaise and Granger more than just colleagues?

The thought unsettled him. Not because of Granger's blood status but because he couldn't shake the feeling that, just like with Pansy and Theo, he was missing the obvious. It annoyed him.

One sobering train ride later, Draco felt his wits returning, and he grew progressively more irritated at the whole situation. How dare Zabini use the bet to humiliate him in front of Granger! This was unacceptable. The whole thing was meant to be a private bet between friends, and Zabini had misused his trust.

Stomping towards the Leaky Cauldron, shoving tourists and weekend shoppers out of his way, Draco worked himself into a rage. He would confront Blaise about Granger at the next opportunity, and demand to know why the bloody hell the damned swot had to be involved in the whole sodding affair.

He pointedly ignored the tiny voice at the back of his head reminding him that the whole experience had been rather pleasant.

Draco furiously clutched his shopping bags as he marched towards the entrance of Diagon Alley. As soon as he had stepped through the archway, he spun on the spot and apparated home, intent on ruining Blaise's day, just like he had ruined his.

* * *

The room around him was drenched into pitch-black darkness. After a while, Draco's eyes made out the gloominess characteristic for the Hogwarts dungeons. There were fires licking at numerous cauldrons sitting on top the tables. The air around him was heavy with the thickening steams of blubbering potions.

He recognised the mysterious scene as his Potions class.

The desk at the very front of the room was vacant. The teacher must have left the classroom, but there was no indication whether it was Slughorn's class, or even Snape's.

Draco looked around. Only now did he make out the dark silhouettes of students who were busily stirring their concoctions. But he couldn't recognise any of them; his sight seemed heavily impaired by the dense vapours wafting to and fro over their bowed heads.

A silvery sparkle in the front row caught his attention. A witch was bent low over her table, either intently studying the contents of her cauldron, or carefully reading the instructions. Thoroughly absorbed by her task, she did not notice her skirt riding up her bum, exposing the soft flesh of her stockinged long legs and her taut posterior, and a tell–tale white twinkle between her shapely cheeks.

The pearl thong, Draco realised with sudden, uncanny clarity. He did not stop to wonder how or why this thought had materialised.

There was a familiar swelling in his trousers.

Intrigued, he promptly left his table and carefully approached the witch; he was eager to inspect the delicate and oddly familiar piece of clothing up close.

He stopped to stand immediately behind her, and Draco could see out the softness of her flesh, her muscles stretching and shifting as she bent low over her table whilst stirring the potion, the fabulous string of pearls sliding between her globes back and forth with every one of her movements.

His slacks were now becoming uncomfortably tight.

To reach for something in front of her, the witch now bent impossibly lower over the table and slightly opened her stance. Mystified, Draco could now discern the rosy lips of her swollen pussy, clinging to the shining, sticky beads of the naughty garment, positively drenched in her arousal.

His cock jerked at the delicious sight.

Agitated, Draco looked around. Nobody noticed him. The faceless class was still wholly absorbed by their tasks.

There was nothing to hold him back then.

In one swift movement, he crouched down beneath her, grabbed her upper thighs, and licked her outer labia — passionately, greedily — with his flattened tongue. He soaked up the musk, metallic scent of her arousal, and inhaled deeply.

Yesss!

To him she tasted like an exquisite red vintage, served with the most delicious French cheese and fig jam; sweet and tart and utterly erotic.

Instead of protesting his sudden and outrageous advances, the witch lustfully moaned in response. She even widened her stance to allow him better access.

Draco tightened the grip on her legs and playfully tugged at the chain. He drank in the sight of her glistening lower lips shifting and moving; the red and swollen flesh of her pearly nub glittering with arousal whilst stimulated with the pellet; the darker rim of arse gloriously adorned by the perverse piece of delicate jewellery.

The desire for the witch burned within him, and he lustfully latched his mouth onto her once again.

His tongue explored her outer folds, softly at first, stroking along the length of her sex to her puckered hole, probing for what gave her pleasure, what had her moaning and sighing with delight. He then swept along her inner folds, continuously tasting and suckling her. He probed her entrance with his tongue, stiffening the tip to make her feel right.

Her moans were low and throaty, and he applied ever more pressure to the spots that had her squirming in his hands. Continuously stroking and licking, he tensed the muscles of his tongue, poked and pushed her that had her ejaculate gasps of _Oh yes!–Uuunnhhh!–Yes!–THERE!_

The more aroused she became, the more her juices changed. He sampled her cream, slurping greedily, noisily, unable to stop himself. He couldn't get enough of the feeling of the coarse softness of her intimacy against his lips.

The witch, too, was writhing in his hands, moaning with uninhibited desire, while her juices trickled in heavy drops over the shining pearls, over his lips, down onto his chin.

Draco felt light-headed; he couldn't stop. He was addicted to her taste. To her scent. To her moans. To the _Please don't stop! Oh yes! Please! Yes, don't stop!_ that had his painfully aroused cock struggling against the tight confines of his trousers.

So he kept on licking.

He slid his flattened tongue over her folds, continuously circling her flesh, stroking her, until her legs started to quiver in the tight grip of his hands. As he continued to worship at her core, the quivering turned into tremors, which turned into shaking, and soon her entire body was heaving with the need to explode, while she was desperately gasping for _More! Oh yes, please! Give me more! Please! I need MORE!_

The classroom and the bystanders were all but forgotten. In his lustful craze, all Draco could see was the wet and wanton witch leaning over the table, skirt bunched up, long legs in stockings spread wide, panting and moaning for him, beckoning him, the evidence of her arousal glistening on her thighs, and the delicate bead of pearls taunting him to sample the real treasures that lay hidden beneath.

In one swift motion, Draco opened his robe, zipped his fly open, and pulled out his hard cock, the tip already leaking with anticipation.

Not even bothering to disrobe, he once again grabbed her thighs and, simply pulling the pearls aside, drove into her fleshy, pulsating heat.

Fuck!

It was bliss! Pure and utter bliss!

It was a feeling like no other, being fully encompassed by the warm, velvety slickness of a wanting witch. He could almost feel her juices leaking around him — no — he could _hear_ her wetness as her pussy shifted and accommodated his swollen length.

Slowly easing out of her depths, Draco pulled her firm cheeks apart and watched mesmerised how her glossy nether lips clung to his shaft, how the pearls carelessly shoved aside shifted back into place and adorned their joint sexes as if they were a gloriously perverse work of art.

The witch moaned in delight and widened her stance even more.

More, I want more, she panted. Give it to me. Fuck me hard!

Draco didn't need any further encouragement. Again, he drove into her weeping pussy. And again he slammed into her. Over and over and over again, he impaled her, he pounded into her, pushing her onto the table, all to the gratifyingly smacking sounds of their fucking.

 _Oh yes, witch! take me–take my cock!_ Draco panted, and viciously rammed his dick into her again and again and again, while she cheered him on to go _Harder! Mhh, so good… yes… unnhhh… fuck me! Yes, fuck me harder–HARDER!_

He drove into her more roughly, almost punishingly so, snapping his hips against her buttocks, gyrating to reach that secret spot at the front of her walls. With every sudden, jerking movement he felt her quivering, panting, pushing to feel him even more deeply. With every snap of his hips he felt his own end approaching.

He reached around her front for her dripping lips, to feel, to tease the swollen flesh of her centre. Touching and rubbing her slippery folds to the sharp rhythm of the urgent strokes of his dick inside her, he felt her legs starting to quiver and stiffen.

Pushing out her bottom to meet every jerk of his hips she drove him impossibly deeper, deeper and deeper still, into her molten core.

Encompassed by the tightness of her red, wet heat Draco felt his own pressure building and building, cheered on by every one of her gasped Yes! More! Oh yes! Fuuck! MORE! , and impossibly turned on by the slurping sounds of his cock driving into her depths.

His bollocks tightened, and his movements became more desperate. His teasing right hand at her sticky pussy lips was trembling, rubbing harder at her engorged and stiffened pearl, as his left clenched around her leg to hold onto the crazed pace of their coupling.

The witch was panting hard now, she was shivering, and stiffening, and as he impossibly sped up the intensity of his fucking and his rubbing until he dragged her over the edge.

With a _Yes! Oh, yes! F–Fuck, Malfoy! YES! UNHH! YEE–EESSSSS!_ her still fully clothed body shook and stiffened under him, as wave after wave of blissful release washed over her.

Draco grabbed her arse with both hands harder, and urgently slammed his cock into her wetness, fucking her through her release, again and again and again, driving himself towards the abyss, as her channel pulsated and tightened and jerked around him, cheering him on to follow her over the precipice.

With one hand he reached around to once again grab the string of pearls. The sight of his dick disappearing once, twice, thrice into her adorned and pulsating cunt pushed him over the edge, and an all-encompassing orgasm thundered through his stuttering and jerking body to the sounds of his delight

'OH YES! YEESSS! O GODS, YES, GRANGER – YES! UNNHHH!'

* * *

With a start, Draco awoke, flailing and twitching. His heart was thudding frantically inside his chest.

 _Fuck._

He breathed heavily, trying to get his body back under control, wondering if he was having another panic attack. He felt different though; limp and elated, as though he was floating.

His legs and crotch felt cold and damp, and he finally realised the sticky ropes of wetness that were still jerking into his pearl-white silk sheets that betrayed the origins of his agitation.

Draco relaxed into his pillow and gradually, his breathing steadied. But no sooner had his orgasmic high ebbed away when his postcoital bliss transmuted into a fiery heat — the fiery heat of shame, that now spread through his exhausted limbs.

Fuck.

Bloody fucking fuck _fuck_.

 _FUCK!_

Agitated, Draco sat up, the realisation hitting him like a bludger to the head. He had, apparently, embarrassingly, been dream–shagging Hermione bloody Granger in a pearl thong, in a full potions classroom no less.

Fucking wonderful.

Miserably, he eyed the treacherous mess in his bed that betrayed without a shadow of a doubt that the dream had been one of the most intense and erotic experiences of his life.

I am going to kill fucking Zabini, he thought moodily before reaching for his wand, deliberating whether or not to obliviate himself.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! The original version uploaded on June 5, 2018 was only the second thing I had ever written - which is why I revised it. Thanks go to Motherofbulls whose lovely reaction to the initial piece made me expand the intended one-shot into a minific, to jamethiel who helped with the beginning of the rewrite, and to Frogster who did a quick beta of the revised version.**

 **Please let me know what you think! If you don't want to review, I always welcome feedback of any kind as a PM, on tumblr, twitter, or facebook (see my profile page for details). Cheers, Lynx.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Understudy

**_A/N: So... there I am again... I'm so very sorry to have kept you waiting! I really didn't mean to. But much like this fic in general, this chapter overwhelmed me, and I had some serious plot problems to figure out (especially since this was *supposed* to be a brief fling while I was supposed to be busy with a long-term relationship fic which, therefore, has not surpassed the notes and ideas and sketches stage). I have procrastinated by writing two really silly One-Shot. Check them out if you like and tell me what you think!  
In the meantime, you have blown me away with your response! Thank you to everyone who has followed or liked or written a comment. Special thanks to the lovely girls in the Strictly Dramione facebook group, especially Amanda and LaBelladoneX, whose shoutouts (especially the feature in NameThatFic) really made me squeal! Thank you.  
Finally, I'm eternally thankful to have the Great MotherofBulls as Patron Saint. Her beta powers are heavenly._**

* * *

 ** _Monday (today, Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Creatures)_**

Hermione sat back and let out a heavy sigh. With a _Swish_ and _Flick_ , she levitated the last folder she'd been working on to the top of the tall and dangerously wonky paper tower on her bursting filing cabinet. What was cryptically labelled as _Wizengamot Draft Bill 261 M.B_. _05_ was the result of roughly one-and-a-half years of interdepartmental work and international research pertaining to the _Educational and Societal Advancement of Non-Magical Persons with Magical Heritage_ (or what the Daily Prophet quite incorrectly referred to as the _Squib Equality & Education Bill _). Just one more month until the legislation would be discussed and voted on by the Wizengamot. Just one more month until, hopefully, another step towards _true_ equality in magical Britain would be made.

She massaged her aching shoulders. It had been a pretty uneventful Monday morning so far. All the important meetings regarding the _Wizengamot Proposal 261 M.B. 05_ ( _Societal and Educational Advancement of Non-Magical Persons of Magical Heritage_ , or short and sweet . .P.M.H _)_ were scheduled for later this week, her department had just had completed another policy in cooperation with the International Department of Intermagical Affairs, therefore her weekly department meeting had been even shorter than usual. Turning to make another cuppa, she checked her wristwatch. There was still time until her lunch date. With her favourite red and gold mug in hand, she sat back at her desk, and checked her office diary for the tenth time today. Right. No pressing deadlines, no hectic bustling, no last-minute preparations for legislation–she was facing a rather boring Monday morning, actually. So, there was no reason why she should be this anxious. Very much _unlike_ her weekend, she mused. Especially Saturday. Now _that_ had been quite something.

It'd all started Thursday the week before when she'd sat in the ministry cafeteria nibbling on her sandwich. She was pouring over a book on her latest fascination, Sex Magick, when a tall, handsome fellow interrupted her. Uninvited, of course.

 ** _Thursday, the week before (Ministry of Magic, cantine)_**

"You're never going to believe this, Granger!"

"What is it today, Blaise?" Hermione sighed, not even bothering to look up from her tattered and aged copy of _Princum-prancum Magicum_ by _Cecily Plumtricket_ from 1670 _._ "Oh wait, never mind, it's Tuesday… what is it Malfoy did this time, hm?"

"Oh Granger, you know me so well," Blaise purred, and stole a tomato from her plate, playfully twirling it in his slender fingers before first sucking its juices out, and then swallowing the rest. "Are you quite sure, you don't want to give _us_ a go?"

"You know, Blaise, there are only so many ways a witch can politely decline." Hermione turned the page. "I might just run out one of these days."

"Just one dinner, love. I promise I'll make it worth your while."

"I'm sure you will," Hermione commented dryly, still not tearing her eyes from her perusal. "But let's just save both of us the time: _us_ is something that'll never work."

"By Merlin, how could you possibly know that?" Blaise pretended to be hurt, arms crossed in front of his chest. "And can't you tear yourself away from that sordid book for just one second? Always reading, reading, reading. My presence demands your attention, witch!"

Hermione finally put down the volume, and gave Blaise one of her very stern, very intimidating, very McGonagall-like stares.

"Well, for one, there you are. I couldn't possibly be with someone who doesn't share my _one true passion,_ reading-reading-reading. Two: you're a prat. Three: you're only being so difficult because annoying me is _your_ one true passion. So, you can either sit there and watch me read, if you must get on my nerves, or better yet, go harass someone else. I'm sure there's a Miss Moneypenny somewhere who would be _delighted_ to have you _bother_ her. Unless, there actually _was_ a reason why you're here stealing one of my few precious moments where I'm not annoyed by headless, incompetent, paper-pushing minions."

"Ah, Granger, always eager to tell us just _how_ inadequate us mere mortals are. Funny, too, since it reminds me of a certain someone I came here to talk to you about." He smirked and gracefully dodged a paper napkin that came flown at him. "Don't worry, Granger. You know how I like to tease you. Hermione snorted. If there was one thing that she really did not appreciate was Blaise's insistence of her and Malfoy's similarities. What utter bollocks. With a huff, she picked up _Princum-prancum Magicum_ once again and scanned the page to continue her perusal of the early modern Tantrum Magick.

"Speaking of which." Blaise scooted closer and put his elbows on the table, hands folded, eying her conspiratorially. After a few cautious glances around the room he whispered triumphantly, "I got Draco to go to Sh!"

Incredulous, Hermione closed her book. "Beg your pardon, Zabini? I must have misheard", she narrowed her eyes at her dark friend. "Because that sounded an awful lot like _Draco_ Malfoy _– Muggles–are–the–scum–of–the–earth_ , _my–pinky–is–more–precious–than–your–whole–existence_ Malfoy _–_ might be frequenting a Muggle feminist sex-shop." Hermione couldn't help but giggle like a schoolgirl. This was just too good a joke.

In feigned casual nonchalance, Blaise leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "It would seem your listening skills are up to par, Granger," he deadpanned and watched her intently. "Although, I don't appreciate you abusing my friend for his heritage, _or_ his teenage idiocy for that matter. Aren't you always adamant that no one can be faulted for their milieu or their social conditioning?"

His seriousness had Hermione sobered immediately.

"But _how_ … why? _Why_ would Malfoy go there?"

To be sure, she was very pleased indeed that Blaise had apparently contributed to her most recent, if slightly less _official_ , crusade to contribute to sexual awareness and education in Magical Society, _especially_ amongst the younger witches and wizards. She'd had her share of lovers who either did not know their way around their partner or were too timid or too stuck up to know, let alone verbalise what they wanted themselves. Surprisingly enough (or maybe not so surprising at all), both instances were a rather common occurrence with pureblooded partners, not that she was prone to discrimination, of course not. However, being the modern, practical woman that she was, Hermione just couldn't let that stay the way it was. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if this was another of these instances where magical society really was a bit behind.

And after yet another unsatisfying tumble in the sheets, Hermione came to the conclusion that ignorance was anything but bliss, _especially_ in the bedroom; so she initiated the underground campaign **_Awareness is Bliss_** _,_ which focused on owning and exploring one's sexuality.

From early on, Blaise had been one of her confidants in this endeavour. Given his Casanova-esque lifestyle, he turned out to be a great advocate for re-connecting witches with their hidden desires. However, not for a second did Hermione believe that Draco Malfoy joining their ranks was due to a wish to be enlightened. Nor was he likely to have become an advocate for social change, whatever the cause. The more she thought about it, the whole story appeared to be fishy. More than fishy, actually. This smelled downright foul. And judging by the devilish smirk that crept onto Blaise's handsome features, she _knew_ something very untoward indeed was going on.

"Oh, Morgana. What did you do? Did you blackmail him? Zabini, out with it!"

Barely able to contain his glee, the darker wizard recounted the previous evening at Malfoy Manor, and how he had provoked his friend into the wager.

"Well, that wasn't fairly played!" Hermione scolded him, "weren't you the one who threw Pansy and Theo together in the first place?"

Blaise huffed. "Nonsense. They've been in love with each other for years. They just were too daft to notice it. All I did was giving them a _slight_ nudge in the right direction. But, honestly, I barely had to do _anything_." He chuckled at the memory.

"You invited them to dinner, and spiked their drinks with _Amortentia_! That's a bit more than a _slight nudge,_ I'll say!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalised. "I mean, there's no way you could've possibly done anything _more_ unless you'd actually dressed up as Cupid, and pierced them with a sodding arrow!"

Blaise struggled not to show how pleased he was with himself in the face of her irritation. He pointedly glanced around the cafeteria, trying _– and failing –_ to hide his glee at his victorious stunt.

 _That self-satisfied, smug, meddling bastard!_

"No need to be so stuck up about it, Granger. Some people are quite simply too daft for their own good. In fact, Parkinson and Nott should count themselves lucky to have a good friend such as me. "

"What sort of _friend_ takes away a person's free will? Certainly not the sort I fancy having, thank you very much," she said with a scoff.

"Merlin, not this again. First of all, you know very well it wasn't actually a love potion, but an _emotion enhancing_ potion. Second of all, I've told you a hundred times over that I'd _never_ do that to you–"

"Well, I certainly should hope so!"

"–even if it'd do and Malfoy you some good," he muttered under his breath.

"BLAISE!"

"Besides," he continued and pointedly ignored her glares, "if anyone was to complain it should be Parkinson and Nott. And they certainly are not. In fact, they more than appreciate what I did for them."

Hermione huffed and redirected her attention to Cecily Plumtricket and 17th-century Sex Magick. She still thought it'd been a high-handed and frankly extreme approach to things. But then again, Blaise _was_ a Slytherin, and that was probably the only way a Slytherin knew how to solve anything. A Gryffindor would _never_ stoop to such low tactics; no. Honesty was always the best policy. _Always_.

"So, what's it then with Malfoy," she asked, intent on changing the subject. "You pressed him into going to _Sh!_ You probably even did something stupid like an Unbreakable Vow to make him, didn't you." Blaise managed to look slightly guilty. "Of course, you did."

Hermione glanced down at the opened pages of her tome: an etching of two pompously clad figures in a perfectly manicured baroque garden were slowly undressing each other, in the background a group of witches and wizards were dancing ecstatically; the subscription read ' _The Eve of Samhain Will Increase the Highth as well as the Enjoyement of the Magycal Experience'_.

She sighed. "Let me guess, then. You want me to go with him?"

Blaise blinked. "Have I ever told you that you're an exceptionally brilliant and beautiful witch?"

"Shove the sweet-talking, Blaise. I'll do it."

"You will?" The dark wizard inquired cautiously. "And what do you want in return?"

"Believe it or not, nothing actually. Unlike some people, not everything I do has to serve an ulterior motive, you know." And with that she stuffed her book into her bag, and walked back to her office, leaving a rather bewildered Blaise behind.

 ** _Saturday (the weekend before, Hermione's flat)_**

After the (rather puzzling) encounter at Sh!, the rest of Hermione's day flew by in a haze. She was barely concentrating on her usual weekend routine. While she busied herself with the laundry, she noticed that she was a bit more occupied with her former classmate than absolutely necessary. It might have been the many glasses of rosé, it might have been the hot and heavy surroundings, but still now, long after they'd said their goodbyes, her mind had wandered to the handsome, tall blond more often than she'd care to admit.

It was just that the very different side Draco Malfoy had shown earlier – the easy-going, polite, and, yes, exceptionally fit Draco Malfoy who was not above learning about female pleasure – was something she couldn't get out her head. It all puzzled her exceedingly.

Thoroughly distracted by her chores and her wandering thoughts, she didn't notice the fireplace roaring to life. Only when the tall and elegantly clad figure of Blaise Zabini waltzed into her living room, several wine bottles in tow, Hermione realised just how distracted she had been all day.

It had become somewhat of a _jour fix_ , their Saturday evening chats. Usually Blaise would take her out to try one or another casual fine dining place. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly wicked, she would take him to a Muggle gastropub where Blaise would whine about the horrid, flat, and utterly despicable Muggle beer, and she would tease him about him not being able to hold his alcohol. But it was their more casual Saturdays, spent at her flat in Shoreditch drinking copious amounts of wine from one of his many family owned vineyards, when they had _truly_ gotten to know each other.

It was on evenings like these that a drunken Blaise had confided in Hermione how deeply unhappy he was about not being able to stay with one person, and that he, amongst other things, blamed his pureblooded upbringing and his heritage (especially his mother and her black widow tendencies).

It was on evenings when they'd slid off the couch and sat giggling on the carpet clad floor that Hermione had confessed how much she hated being perceived as the do-gooder Golden Girl who was never supposed to make mistakes.

It was on Saturdays like these that both had discovered how, curiously, both their lives were similarly constricted by how society expected them to be. Wine induced confessions on Saturdays had transformed two very different people of the opposite sides of the social scale to dear friends.

But it wasn't only the heavy things that they'd share with each other. More often than not they would exchange gossip, chat about work, or their friends. Yes, their friends had developed into a favourite topic of theirs. They would exchange stories, laugh about endearing mannerisms, compare astounding similarities. Hermione did not appreciate Blaise constantly comparing her to Draco ("See, see! You're even glaring just like he does!"); Blaise, on the other hand, didn't particularly enjoy that he was, according to Hermione, a cross between the Weaslette and Potter, of all people.

"You're sassy and snappy like Ginny, but kind and supportive like Harry," she would say, and Blaise would just huff and sip his wine.

In the end, both of them wondered just how extraordinary it really was that, despite the blatant similarities shared by their closest friends, their circles did not overlap.

Tonight's meeting was dedicated to their friends. Or rather, one friend in particular, and probably Blaise's favourite topic when talking to Hermione: Draco Malfoy.

"So, how did it go at Sh!" Blaise said. He barely took the time to kiss their hellos.

"Lovely. I got some wonderful new garments. And do you remember this masquerade dress I couldn't stop thinking about? I finally bought it."

"Oh, did you now?" He summoned two wine glasses, which he filled to the brim, and flopped onto the sofa.

"Hm."

Blaise fuddled with the bottle of Italian white wine he had brought. From a Veneto, family-owned vineyard.

"So, how was it?"

"Honestly, I thought it didn't fit me properly. But Steph convinced me to take it."

Hermione knew exactly what Blaise was dying to hear. But seeing as she had spent the better part of the day rolling the few moments at the shop back and forth in her head, she now tried to not give in to the urge to talk about it. Also, she still was rather confused about what to make of it all. The two Dracos she knew did not fit; or rather: the Draco she had met just hours ago did in no way match the spoilt, vindictive boy she had known at school.

"Marvellous. Anything else happen?" He shot her a meaningful glance.

"Hm… They didn't have any exciting new things. And I finally managed to get my hand on that antique book I talked to you about the other day – the one about forgotten sexual practices. You know, it's fantastic! I especially wanted to show you this particular–"

"Oh, stuff it, Granger! You know full well that I want to know how it went with Malfoy!"

Hermione feigned innocence and picked up her glass. She swirled the wine around and took a careful sip.

Blaise stared her down.

"Alright, alright! Well…" She played with the glass, twirling it in her fingers.

"Just out with it! Did he, or didn't he go?"

"Of course he did," she snapped. "Or do you think he would get himself killed over a silly bet?"

"Well… he probably would've if he had known you'd be there waiting for him," Blaise deadpanned. He laughed at Hermione's stony expression.

"It was fine, actually, and he was rather pleasant," she sniped, feeling a bit stung. "He got the things you requested: a book and two toys." She sipped the wine Blaise had supplied and stood up. "So, now that this is _finally_ over and done with, I really wanted to show you this one position–"

"Wait just a second! That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?"

"There's hardly anything to tell," Hermione supplied noncommittally. "I shopped, he shopped, we talked, paid, and went on with our respective Saturdays. And now here we are."

"Oh, don't be absurd, Granger. You know perfectly well that you can give me a more detailed account than that!"

"Well…" she said, unsure what to reply to that. She could hardly tell him that she was still confused by Draco's pleasant demeanour; that seeing him in muggle surroundings made her see the actual person instead of their shared, toxic history; that – for the first time in probably ever – she had realised how very handsome he was.

"How did he seem to you? Was he embarrassed? Did he behave badly? Was he mean?"

"Did you _want_ him to be mean to me?"

"Yes. No! Not that he would, usually–I mean, _was he_?"

Hermione laughed. "No, he wasn't. He was nice. Actually, he was more than just nice, and quite uncharacteristically so. He even held the door open for me." Hermione's eye twitched at the memory. She could almost still taste the musky freshness of his scent, traces of bergamot, lavender, and cedar.

Blaise snorted. "What, _that_ already constitutes _nice_ for you? That's just being a civilised human being, Granger. Merlin's Beard! I sometimes wonder what these Gryffindor cavemen ever did to snatch up fit girls like yourself, or the Weaslette."

"Well, it helps considerately if you don't call them 'blood-traitor,' or 'Mudblood,'" Hermione shot back. Blaise gave her a pained expression. His mumbled reply drowned in his wine glass.

"Anyway," Hermione continued considerately more amicably, "he was perfectly nice and polite. The poor chap was probably mortified to run into me. At least he must have been, he even complimented me on the masquerade dress."

"Fancy that!" Blaise sniggered. "I always told you he fancied you."

"He probably just liked the dress." Hermione replied self-deprecatingly, and Blaise nodded and laughed.

She didn't want to admit it out loud, but she, too, had been under the impression that Malfoy _had_ found her attractive–at least judging from the rosy tips of his ears and his fidgety demeanour when they'd stood together in the basement of _Sh!_.

So, she did not appreciate Blaise wounding her pride like that by ridiculing the idea of a Malfoy in a sound mind paying her a compliment. Then again, Draco actually _had_ been slightly inebriated. And the symptoms could've just as well been caused by embarrassment and drunkenness.

Hermione then recounted, in greater detail than before, what Malfoy had actually chosen, and that she'd approved especially of the literature.

"He really seemed to be genuinely interested, you know," she finished her report.

"In you?" Blaise smirked.

"Oh, stop it!" Hermione swatted his arm.

Blaise raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she blushed.

"No! In the workings of the female anatomy, of course," she retorted. Her cheeks burned.

"Well, wasn't that sort of the point?"

"Really?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean, Blaise Zabini. You never do anything _without_ an ulterior motive."

"Come on, Granger, I told you. I wanted to embarrass the prat."

"So you say. But there are so many other ways you could've done that."

"Well, you know what they say, love. It's all about the right audience. And you, Granger, were just the right audience for that sort of thing." He hid his smirk behind his glass.

"I see," Hermione supplied dryly, and sipped at the crisp white wine, although she had the faint impression that she did not, in fact, see.

"Although I was hoping there would be just a little flirting," Blaise added airily.

Hermione didn't dare to look her friend in the eye.

"Well, sorry to disappoint but it was just civilised conversation."

"About sex toys and orgasms?" he laughed.

"Yes," she shot back, probably with more emphasis than strictly necessary. Oh dear, it was probably the wine taking its toll. She pointedly ignored the burning stares her friend shot her. "We conversed like two conversing adults. A perfectly normal conversation about adult things."

She hastily drowned the rest of her drink and almost choked on it. Blaise stifled a laugh but thankfully didn't return to the _very uninteresting_ matter of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger having a _perfectly normal_ _conversation_ , as _adults_ , about _adult things_.

As they drifted back into their usual effortless discussions about politics and wine and literature and sex and friends, Hermione, already feeling a bit hazy, couldn't quite shake the feeling that her cunning friend had not only tricked Malfoy but also herself with the whole sordid affair at _Sh!_

 ** _Saturday night/Sunday morning (the weekend before, Hermione's flat)_**

After a quite inebriated Blaise Zabini had stumbled into the fireplace and Floo'ed home, an equally as tipsy Hermione plopped down onto her sofa.

Her thoughts were still revolving around their earlier conversation. It might have been her uninhibited, drunken brain, but her mind kept coming back to the mystery that was Draco Malfoy and their fateful encounter at _Sh!_.

She couldn't quite say _when_ she had fallen asleep, but thoughts _him_ were clearly carrying into her subconscious. At first, she believed she was back in at _Sh!_ , talking to Malfoy in the downstairs room. She was showing him various toys and gadgets and how to use them on a woman, how to maximise pleasure, when suddenly they were back in Hogwarts, in the Potions classroom.

She was sitting in her usual chair at the very front, but instead of Ron who was usually occupying the chair next to her, Draco was in his place. But instead of the boy she used to know at school, he looked like the older version with whom she had just recently become reacquainted.

The change of scenery didn't seem to faze either of them, and they continued their discussion of giving and receiving pleasure. They were probably the last to leave the lesson, because the room was completely empty.

Hermione realised now just _how_ close Draco was. She could smell his perfume, bergamot and lavender and cedar, and his breath ghosted over her whenever he contributed to their discussion of the female orgasm.

Just as she was feeling a tinge of regret that they were _just_ _talking_ about making women come he lowered his voice and said: "Do you mind showing me, Granger?"

She promptly stood up and set down on the edge of the desk, right in front of him. Slowly, she shoved up her skirt and spread her legs, wider and wider, until his ears and his cheeks were tinged in that familiar shade of pink.

"Oh, Granger… You're not wearing any underwear," he rasped, breath hitching in his throat, as she reached down with one hand and spread her pussy lips for him.

"Merlin, you're dripping!"

He edged closer, posture rigid, to observe Hermione rhythmically teasing her sex with one hand, while the other gently touched her breasts through her school uniform shirt.

"You're so sexy, Granger!" the blond mumbled, never taking his eyes off of her. She spelled the top buttons of her shirt open, exposing the dark lace bra framing her curves. Under his hungry and appreciative gaze, Hermione pushed out her tits and increased the pace of her fingers rubbing her sex. She spread her pussy lips and dragged the creamy juices all over her folds, gasping and delighting at the slippery feel of her arousal.

"Morgana, you're turning me on so much, right now," he choked, as she pinched her hardened nipples through the lace, and rubbed furiously at her folds, circling her engorged and pulsing clitoris, but avoiding the too sensitive clitoral gland. Faster and faster still Hermione teased herself; she felt her legs stiffen, and the blood rush in her ears, and with a low moan, she pulsed around her fingers, her heart thrumming loudly to the rhythm of her release.

Panting, she slumped back, leaning on her elbows, her legs dangling from the table, while she was trying to get her breathing under control.

"You look so delicious, witch," her companion supplied, and he moved closer to inspect her sex that was covered with the silvery white sheen of arousal and release.

And then his mouth devoured her. Hermione lost all ability to speak or to think, she could only _feel, oh yes, feel,_ as his wicked tongue mimicked the movements of her hand.

"Oh please," she moaned, as she drowned in a new wave of desire rushing through her exhausted limbs.

She watched fascinated as he held her legs, firmly gripping her things, and lapped at her sex, almost drinking her juices like a rare wine, eyes closed, his expression solemn with something akin to reverence.

Hermione revelled in the heady cocktail of feelings rushing through her body – post-orgasmic haze, arousal, being desired – it all just felt _so good_. Just _good_.

When his tongue increased the speed and the pressure, and as her breathing grew more erratic, and the heat in her body rose, and she knew, _she knew_ , she would fall over the edge soon, oh _so soon_ , she gasped for him.

"I need you, Draco. I need to _feel_ you!"

With rushed, frantic movements that betrayed just _how much_ he wanted her, _needed_ her, the attractive blond pulled out his hardness, and swiftly pushed into her dripping core.

Hermione couldn't remember ever feeling this sense of fullness, of completion, of desiring and being desired, as now that Malfoy stood in front of her, grabbing the tops of her thighs and driving into her slippery depths with uninhibited passion, moaning and gasping, whispering sweet nothings into her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples.

She urged him to go harder, deeper, faster still; opening her legs wider, grabbing his snapping hips and pushing him, shoving him into her dripping pussy.

Their shared "Yes", and "more", and "Please" cheered on their descent into ecstasy, as pure lust overtook their senses, urging them forward, forward, _forward_ , until they were sweating and panting in unison, moving and jerking in carnal synchronicity further, further, _further_ , towards the ultimate heights of pleasure.

To the sounds of their shared gasps, and moans, and _"yes, yes, oh Gods, YES!"_ they kept urging each other ever further – pushing, pushing, _pushing_ until they were both falling, shuddering, jerking into each other. Until the chaos of entangled limbs became one, limp, breathless body, drifting away, into the all-encompassing nothingness of post-orgasmic bliss…

Until Hermione opened her eyes.

 _Lumos!_

Why was she lying alone in her soft, comfortable bed in her Shoreditch flat, instead of the dark and empty potions classroom in Hogwarts, together with one Draco Malfoy? She could still almost _feel_ his lips, his hands, his hair ghosting over her over-sensitised body.

 _Oh._

 _Nox._

Hermione sighed and pulled her blanket over her head. She tried to block out glimpses of the overwhelming sensations that had woken her up.

After a while she drifted back to sleep, calmed by the lingering traces of bergamot and lavender and cedar.

* * *

 _ **Endnote: But what's with Draco? *evil laughter* I know, I know. But we had to know about Hermione, didn't we.**_  
 _ **We'll find out if he obliviated himself soon. *sniggers* So don't forget about me. Show me some love in the meantime? Thanks for reading! 3**_


	3. Chapter 3: Eros & Psyche

**A/N Here I am again! Before we find out about what happened to Draco I have a few notes: First, and I know this might be unrealistic, this chapter has special formatting which, sadly, FFN does not display... if you like to see what I did, go and check out the A03 version of this. Of course you can enjoy the chapter without it but I did spend some time on it, and, as they say, form & content do go hand in hand...Secondly: I struggled with the title because I didn't want to evoke RZZMG's brilliant fic; however, it does makes so much sense, so I kept it. So please consider the origins/definitions of Eros & Psyche: **

**"Eros (/ˈɪərɒs/ or /ˈɛrɒs/; Ancient Greek: ἔρως érōs "love" or "desire") is one of the four ancient Greco-Christian terms which can be rendered into English as "love". [...] Eros refers to "passionate love" or romantic love [...]. The term erotic is derived from eros. Eros has also been used in philosophy and psychology in a much wider sense, almost as an equivalent to 'life energy'."**

 **"In psychology, the psyche /ˈsaɪki/ is the totality of the human mind, conscious and unconscious. [...] The word has a long history of use in psychology and philosophy, dating back to ancient times, and represents one of the fundamental concepts for understanding human nature from a scientific point of view. The English word soul is sometimes used synonymously, especially in older texts."**

 **And then, there is the myth of Eros & Psyche, of course...**

 **Finally, I am indebted to the "Amazon goddess" MotherofBulls (thanks SaintDionsyus!) who keeps an ever-watchful eye over this mere mortal, as well as to Tenebris-Et-Lux who did a brit-pick swift like Hermes. Amicis gratia!  
**

* * *

 _ **Sunday (the day before, Malfoy Manor)**_

 _Chirp, chirp, chirp._

Brightness tickled at his consciousness. Draco groaned. He desperately tried to hold onto the blissful nothingness of sleep. But the glow of what promised to be a sunny day intruded into his slumber.

 _Brrrrrr-eow eow eow eow_ , trumpeted the peacock.

Draco pulled his blanket over his head to block out the obnoxious noises of the new day. Something clacked noisily onto the floor. Grumbling, he rolled over to the edge of his bed and felt for whatever it was that had caused the unwelcome disturbance. He retrieved his Hawthorne wand.

 _What had his wand been doing in his bed?_

Draco groaned, again.

 _Nevermind._

He pulled the covers over his head, desperate to get just a few more minutes of sleep. He still felt considerably drowsy. And it was Sunday, for Merlin's sake, so there was no reason on earth why he should be getting up early – even if it _was_ , apparently, an exceptionally sunny day, and the meddlesome birds were dead set to annoy him out of his bloody mind.

 _Chirp, chirp, chirp._

 _Fucking poultry_. Annoyed, Draco felt for his wand to cast a silencing charm, his fingers gliding across the softness of his covers. An onslaught of images, sounds, scents, came rushing through his drowsy mind that had him gasping at the intensity of the sudden memory.

Flashes of a dark, hazy Potions classroom materialised in his head–a sparkle in the dark–a pearly twinkle between the legs of a brunette witch bent low over a table–his mouth buried between the witch's legs–his cock fucking the witch into the table–the witch that was Hermione Granger.

 _SHITE!_

Draco sat up, heart thudding wildly in his chest. His brain spiralled into overdrive.

 _Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!_

 _FUCK!_

Oh Gods. He had dream-fucked Hermione bloody Granger.

 _FUCK!_ _How did that happen!?_

Panting, Draco clasped his head, desperate to suppress the deluge of images, feelings, smells that poured into his consciousness. He was drowning in the softness of her thighs, the saltiness of her core, the silky wetness of her insides wrapped around his throbbing length…

 _Oh no, oh no, OH NO!_

He jumped out of his bed, agitatedly pacing in his room, desperately, irrationally, trying to walk off the memories overwhelming his senses. This wasn't normal! Did Granger curse him? Did she cast a spell on him? Was this some kind of revenge for him being such a wanker to her at school? Yes, that had to be it! She had to have cursed him!

But _how_?

 _Oh, oh no._

The sex shop. That's why she'd been so nice to him at the sex shop!

Draco groaned. _Fuck._

He'd actually believed Granger to have been genuinely nice to him, out of the goodness of her fucking heart. What a fucking naïve idiot he was! Why _on earth_ would she _ever_ be nice to him? After all that had happened in the past, never mind how much time had gone by, never mind how much he had changed!

 _You've lost your bloody mind, you bloody stupid wanker_. No doubt about it, Granger _had_ hexed him!

Draco paced around his room in agitation, the annoying poultry all but forgotten.

 _Blaise. It was all Blaise's fault. Come to think of it, Blaise was probably in on it, too!_ Gods! _Blaise, that fucking bastard_ , he thought darkly. _It'd all been a set-up. Yes! Oh, it was_ so _obvious now. He'd really become such a Hufflepuff._

Still, the pressing question remained: _how?_

Draco jumped into action, wand clutched tightly in his hand. He stalked into the dressing room where he had deposited the shopping bag from _Sh!_ the day before. Manically pulling out item after item, he cast spell after spell to detect the curse that had induced the sordid wet dream. But to no avail; no traces of magical interference were to be found in any of the objects.

Instead, his apparently still confused brain conjured images of his nocturnal escapade: sexes adorned by the pearl string moving in synchronicity flashed through his still tired mind; his dick pushing in and out of Granger's soaking pussy; the witch moaning and sighing at the delightful assault; and the sweet sensation of release overwhelming him, drowning him.

" _Fuck!"_ Draco shuddered at the memory. The spell had to be incredibly powerful to still be affecting him.

Yet, no matter how many counter-curses he tried, his efforts to trace anything sinister remained futile. To all appearances, he had purchased perfectly innocent–if incredibly arousing– but definitely ordinary, non-magical items.

Draco cursed under his breath. It wasn't even noon, yet he felt as though he'd barely slept.

Slowly, the rational part of his brain awakened, urging him not to overreact. He needed to go about this in an orderly, analytical fashion. Surely, a proper shower and a Full English would restore both his mental and physical capabilities. And then he would make a plan. Yes, he needed a plan

Purposefully, Draco stalked out of his dressing room, into his ensuite bathroom.

* * *

Water cascaded over his face, and Draco emptied his mind. Occlumency had saved his arse over and over again. Though there had been infinitely more trying situations during the war, Draco found that _now_ , he had a hard time shutting away his tumultuous emotions.

He turned off the water. Hot steam swirled around him, and tiny droplets hung heavy from his lashes. It all made him feel light headed and dizzy, and it took him a second to steady himself.

He leaned against the cool tiles of his shower and took shallow breaths.

The drops were caressing his body as they dripped down his chest, over his abdomen, onto his half-hard cock. It made him think of scarlet lips exploring his body.

 _Oh no_ , Draco thought. But the groan that escaped his lips only served as a reminder of what he was trying very, _very_ hard _not_ to think about.

But he couldn't seem to help it. As the water ran over his over-sensitised skin, he imagined delicate fingertips tracing veins, muscles, scars. He closed his eyes and grabbed his hardening length. He imagined the wetness running down his legs to be a red hot tongue sucking at his skin.

Draco hardened his grip and stroked his length, up and down, up and down. He saw her kneeling in front of him. Her mouth, which had taunted him so very often with cheeky comebacks, now firmly wrapped around him. Her sharp tongue swirling around the head, feeling, exploring, caressing every inch, every vein, every muscle. Draco let out a low moan and increased his pumping. He could almost feel her, sucking him off, right there.

 _Oh yes_ , he grunted, and felt his bullocks tighten; the familiar tingling sensation gathering at the end of his spine, the pent-up energy ready to burst, now, oh so close, _so close_ …

 _Oh gods, fuck, Granger…_ with a muffled grunt Draco spilt his seed all over his showered body, shaking with the powerful tremors of his release.

Draco slumped down the tiled wall, ice-cold against the heat of his skin. He tried to get his erratic breathing under control, but he couldn't seem to get his fuzzed mind in order.

This was unnatural. He'd never had any feelings for the brunette, and now he had gotten two of the most intense orgasms of his life whilst thinking of her. He could only imagine the power of the spell she had him under, if it even defied a mind so adept at Occlumency as his.

He needed to get his shite sorted out. And quickly.

* * *

An hour later, a groomed, fed and thus considerately less moody, Draco sat in the breakfast parlour of Malfoy Manor browsing the _Prophet_ , just as he would every morning. While his eyes were fixed on Hermias Whitlock's lengthy article on the political revolution that was the Squib Equality & Education Bill, which was likely to be passed in the Wizengamot later this month, Draco found he was having a very hard time indeed concentrating on the scoop.

Frustrated, he crumpled the paper. His chair scraped loudly over the wooden floors as he abruptly stalked over to the window overlooking the grounds of the family estate.

"Is something the matter, dear? What sordid nonsense did that rag spout this time? Anything to worry about?"

The ever lofty figure of Narcissa Malfoy swept into the room to join her son for a second cup of tea. She reached for the wrinkled newspaper and scowled at the headline.

"Hm? Oh, the Prophet. No, not this time, Mother. It seems I have a bone to pick with Zabini."

"Oh?"

"Nothing to worry about. He just pulled one over on me, is all. I'm still trying to figure out how he managed to do it."

"Ah, I see," Narcissa remarked, although she did not, in fact, see what on earth Blaise Zabini could've possibly done to warrant such unusual behaviour as the destruction of the morning paper.

"Speaking of your friends, don't forget that dear Theo is coming over for supper tonight. And he will be bringing his lady friend."

Draco turned to scowl at his mother. "Pansy's coming?"

"Oh, you know already? Isn't it perfectly wonderful that both of them are finally together? I always felt they were made for each other."

"They always hated each other," Draco remarked drily.

"Oh, Draco, dear, you really _can_ be blind, sometimes."

The blond snorted.

"Excuse me?" his mother demanded sternly.

"Apologies, mother. I just fail to see where on earth constant bickering and complaining would ever indicate mutual attraction."

"Well, sometimes we overtly reject what we secretly want, don't we." His mother remarked airily, sipping on her tea. The sentiment uncannily reminded Draco of what the shop girl had said the other day: _Probably everyone has this one kink, or harbours that secret attraction for someone._

"I suppose so," he supplied, even though he did not, in fact, supposed so. However, Theo and Pansy coming to dinner finally gave him the opportunity to inquire about their strange relationship. But first, he needed to speak to Blaise and find out how he and Granger had hexed him. And then he'd have them cast the counter-curse. Kissing his mother goodbye, he tracked down his pharaoh eagle owl, Cassandra.

Yesterday's embarrassment at the muggle shop felt almost childish compared to what Draco was feeling now. When he'd returned from his shopping spree the day before, aggravated and mortified though he was, he had immediately owled Blaise to demand that they talk. As of yet, his friend had not responded, which annoyed Draco to no end.

Draco decided that he'd had enough. He composed a Howler and instructed Cassandra not to come back without a response.

Watching the majestic bird carry the letter glowing dangerously red over the sun-bathed gardens of Malfoy Manor, he reflected on what had happened since he'd been to _Sh!_. He _really_ needed to talk to Blaise, sooner rather than later, and find out what in Merlin's name he and Granger had done to him.

Grimly, he stalked away, towards the library. If Blaise didn't reply soon he might just be able to find a counter-curse amongst the literary treasures of his family.

 _ **Still Sunday (the day before, Hermione's flat)**_

When Hermione awoke bright early to a sunny morning she still felt fuzzy and confused. Fuzzy thanks to the copious amounts of Italian red wine consumed the previous evening, confused because she was still reeling from that really erotic dream that had awoken her in the middle of the night.

It was ridiculous but she could almost still feel his touches burning on her soft skin as she was basking in the delicious combination of tiredness and afterglow. It was not often that she experienced an orgasm so intense that she would wake up from it.

Hermione got up and continued with her usual Sunday routine: showering, fixing the morning tea, reading, until she Floo'ed over to the Burrow for the weekly Sunday lunch.

It was only when she returned to the solitude of her flat hours later, sitting with a contentedly purring Crookshanks in her lap, digging into Cecily Plumtricket's discourse on early modern Sex Magyck and its roots in antique sorcery, that she became aware of how very much things had changed.

And, to all appearances, not only for her but also for a certain blond wizard she couldn't quite get out of her head. She was still struggling to bring together the two impressions she had of Draco Malfoy; the childish, vindictive, cruel boy from school, and the elegant, curious polite young man at _Sh!_. Blaise's tiny jabs the previous night only contributed to her confusion.

After a while, she closed her book and retrieved her golden paper bag with the goods from _Sh!._ She carefully caressed the laces and silks and satins, and suddenly had the urge to feel the erotic cloth on her skin.

Peeling away layers and layers of her daytime attire, she stood and looked at her nakedness in the floor length bathroom mirror. She liked the swell of her even breasts, firm and perky and round, which only ever required a bra as a decoration, never as support. She squinted at the sight of her slightly round belly, more soft than flat. Still, she liked how the curves of her female body swelled and dipped from her hips over her thighs into the length of her shapely legs.

Hermione was not like many other women who eternally strove to become skinnier; she genuinely liked the way she looked. On top of that, she thought that there was barely anything sexier than a curvy woman in the throes of passion, body undulating, curves that begged to be touched and caressed.

She pulled the masquerade dress over her head and admired her seductively-decorated reflection. Hermione thought of Draco, of how he had blushed as he had seen her with the garment coming out of the dressing room, his eyes wide, ever so often flickering back to her shopping basket and _the dress_.

Nevermind Blaise's teasing, it _had_ been apparent, to her at least, that Draco had been floored that she, whom he'd probably imagined to be sleeping with a book between her legs, would wear these kinds of garments.

Hermione quietly laughed to herself. Now he'd have to imagine her wearing _this_.

She spun and examined her rear view. Oh, how she would have loved to show him just _how_ well it suited her.

Pulling out garment after garment, Hermione felt flushed and excited. She twisted and turned in teddies and crotchless panties and stockings and pumps in front of the mirror.

This was why she loved dressing up in the bedroom (amongst other places). It made her feel powerful. She almost felt like the outfit made her exude a different kind of magic; a raw, primal kind of magic, that had most men and women hypnotised.

Hermione had always suspected that this effect was more than mere lust and imagination. What Muggles commonly described as the 'chemistry' between two people, she had an inkling that there was some sort of erotic power that contributed to the magic between two people – given that they were compatible, of course.

It was a lacking compatibility that had convinced her that her teenage romance with Ron was just that: a teenage romance. He'd been a kind lover, patient and gentle, and Hermione was forever thankful to have had a respectful and loving first time. But in the end, he was, at the very core, a prude, and a rather judgemental one at that.

He'd never been quite comfortable with Hermione transforming into a vixen in the bedroom, keen to explore every aspect of sensuality.

Even though he'd liked her lingerie well enough, she'd had the distinct impression that he was more intimidated than aroused whenever she made herself up to be particularly sexy.

And whenever she had brought up the slightest suggestion of kink, his self-conscious and timid reactions ("don't you like what we're doing?") confirmed that both of them were just not compatible–neither intellectually nor sexually.

Her mind flitted back to Draco and his out of character reaction back at the shop. He really _was_ a rather good-looking specimen of a man when he wasn't spouting ignorant abuses and his face wasn't contorted by that ugly sneer of his and.

She supposed that Blaise being a good friend of his was, at the very least, evidence of his good character. Somewhere. It also suggested that he wasn't always the pig-headed prat she had known ten or so years ago.

Once again, she spun in front of the mirror and admired her sensual appearance: a crotchless panty under a black lace garter skirt, black stockings and nipple tassels complemented her wild, dark hair. Hermione applied some ruby-red lipstick and a touch of mascara.

Now she felt particularly wicked.

If she was perfectly honest, she'd genuinely enjoyed Malfoy's company at the shop. They had conversed easily and amicably, and it had really impressed her that he'd shown such sincere curiosity in exploring female sexuality.

One thing about Ron, which was far from normal: Ron had never truly enjoyed pleasuring her orally. Draco, on the other hand ( _Draco?_ Where in Merlin's pants had _that_ come from?), seemed to be the kind of wizard who'd get immense satisfaction from the fact that he could make a witch lose her mind. It _was_ a heady sort of thing. Again, this was something that Hermione could relate to.

 _It all came down to compatibility_.

Hermione wondered if Draco had always been this way; if this side of him had just laid hidden beneath layers of the arrogant, pureblood persona he showed in public.

She couldn't help but wonder whether –if she'd ever gotten to know him like _this_ –things could have been different. She wondered how things could've been if he had been at Hogwarts during 8th year, after the war, after all the shite and the angst and the sadness had passed, after prejudice and bloodstatus had stopped mattering. She thought of how things could've been if they had met late at night, studying for their N.E.W.T.s, exhausted but still competitive and stubborn till the end, not wanting to be the first to go to bed.

She imagined how it would've been if they had snuck secret glances at each other, at first to see who was the first to tire, then, after some time, to covertly observe the other. She thought of how she would notice the blonde-white fringe hanging low into his eyes, like it had the other day. How he furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose when he was deep in thought. She imagined his long legs in pressed slacks stretching out under the table, accidentally gracing her thighs. She saw his broad shoulders rolling to keep out the tension from hours sitting and reading.

Hermione remembered how sexy he had looked with the nose deep in his books, even _then_ , and how her stomach would lurch when he suddenly would look up to meet her stare with a heated, burning expression.

It was the _intensity_ in his stares that now, knowing about _the other_ Malfoy, made her knees weak and her knickers damp.

She thought about her old school uniform, her skirt and her stockings, and how she had started to wear lingerie in 8th year because she'd stopped being a girl in the war, and she finally wanted to feel like a woman: sexy and desired and powerful.

She considered her reflection: a brunette femme-fatale in naughty laces and black silks smirked seductively at her. When she moved she could see the soft flesh of her vagina framed by the crotchless knickers, slightly hidden underneath the black lace of the garter skirt.

Nothing about her image said 'studious' or 'hard-working' or (Merlin forbid) 'swotty'.

Hermione pondered just how much she had changed since her Hogwarts days. In a spur of the moment she _Accio_ 'ed her old school uniform, and (without bothering to change out of her lingerie) she pulled on skirt, stockings, shirt and tie.

She was a quite surprised that the outfit didn't require much adjustment with the fitting spell, considering how much she had grown into a woman.

Still, the ensemble looked _dull_ : the skirt was too long and frumpy, the grey woollen stockings were whatever the exact opposite of sexy was, the cut of the shirt was just so _very_ conservative, and the tie reminded her of how she'd _always_ been perceived as the swotty, self-righteous Gryffindor.

Hermione reached for her wand and transfigured her attire into a distinctly more _adult_ version of her school uniform. She vanished the socks, the skirt rode up her legs until it just grazed her thighs and showed the silken stockings and garter belt wrapping around her legs. She opened the top few buttons of her shirt until the fabric nicely framed her breasts while the loosened tie hung seductively between them.

Turning and bending in front of the mirror, she carefully studied her flushed,aroused expression. No, she did _not_ look swotty in this. Then again, neither did she look like she would be doing any studying in this outfit.

She sashayed into her study. Sitting at her old and wooden desk, surrounded by walls covered with shelves upon shelves of books, always made her feel like being back in the Hogwarts library.

Hermione closed her eyes. She imagined sitting at her favourite table at the very back of the Hogwarts library. So often had she been there, had committed that place to perfect memory, that she could almost smell the scent of century-old books and parchments and ink.

She remembered her excitement of having found an equally engaging study partner in Viktor Krum back in 4th Year. But instead of a black-haired boy, she imagined a blond young man sitting next to her, showing books, comparing paragraphs in essays, animatedly discussing the use of a potion's ingredient.

Hermione started caressing herself.

She saw him gesturing with his slender, elegant hands as he explained something. She visualised his mouth curl into a triumphant smile as he made his point. She got lost in the silver, grey, and light blue of his eyes shining with that fiery passion as he caught her gaze.

Her heart stuttered, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She imagined how, accidentally, their hands would touch; how Draco would then reach for her cheek. He would gently, cautiously touch her skin; trace his thumb across her lips.

Her hands wandered over her breasts.

As she imagined how she would capture his fingers between her lips, her breath hitched. She would lick and suck on his digits and make him gasp as he'd imagine her doing this, exactly _this_ , to an entirely different part of his body.

Hermione felt the heat rising as she continued to touch herself. She caressed her curves, her stomach, her breasts through her uniform. All the while she imagined _his_ hands roaming all over her, more urgently now, teasing her breasts, through the fabric at first, then he'd impatiently pull the shirt aside and stroke her uncovered tits and nipples until was squirming with anticipation.

Panting and moaning, Hermione thought of Draco as her hands wandered south, towards her uncovered centre, framed by her knickers. She spread her legs, her stockinged thighs sticky and warm.

She pictured him breathing shallowly now, feeling for the tell-tale wetness, as she leaned back in her chair, anxious to remain quiet as not to betray what these two model students were _actually_ doing at the far end of the library.

 _I want to devour you, Granger_ , he would whisper seductively into her ear. _Let me taste you. Let me_ discover _your body._

Hermione closed her eyes and imaged how Draco would lay her onto their table, parchments and quills tossed aside, her curls spilling all over the mess.

He would bend over her and worship her curves properly now, nipping at her flesh, his hands roaming and teasing her breast, her nipples. He would then spread her legs and lick his way downwards.

As she teased and stroked her folds, her sex, her depths, she imagined Draco bending over her kissing his way down to her mons venus, suckling her outer folds.

 _You look beautiful, Granger… like an orchid, did you know?,_ he would rasp. And then he would drag his tongue across her outer labia, stroking, stroking, _stroking_ , and then he'd suck at her protruding smaller lips, again teasing and testing until he would cover her sex with his mouth and bury his tongue deep inside her.

Hermione panted heavily and shoved one finger, two fingers inside her slippery pussy. But she was almost too wet. The juices of her arousal denied her the much-needed friction. She summoned her favourite toy and activated the vibrating spell. While she worked the vibrator into her cunt, frantically, almost violently, she imagined how Malfoy would crouch between her legs while she lay splayed on top of her library table. How his silvery white hair would look buried between her thighs. How he would whisper, while he was worshipping her with his slender fingers, how very sexy she was, how _unbelievably_ erotic, and how he would like to fuck her for real now, right now, into the Hogwarts library table, scattered books and spilt ink be damned.

With a whimper Hermione convulsed around her toy, her body quivering and stuttering as the waves of her orgasm washed over her.

Exhausted, she stretched out her limbs, basking in the afterglow of her fantasy.

As soon as her faculties had returned, Hermione found herself pondering that her favourite fantasy –shagging in the Hogwarts library– had undergone a significant change. While she usually would get off imagining sex against a shelf with whomever she vaguely fancied at the moment, Draco Malfoy's appearance spoke volumes about her current obsession.

Great.

Not only would she have to add being eaten out by the blasé and aloof Slytherin to the list of her secret desires, she would also have to re-examine what this fascination with the blond wizard was exactly.

A purring Crookshanks slid into her study and pounced onto her lap, demanding affection from his mistress. Absentmindedly, Hermione stroked the cat, while she reflected on her feelings for the wizard. Her automatic reaction ( _nothing, of course!_ ) was a blatantly untrue, as uncomfortable as the realisation was, given their complicated history.

However, he appeared to be quite different _now_ from how he'd used to be _then_.

Hermione was a practical witch, so she had no problems accepting the fact that there _was_ physical attraction, and that did not have to take emotional or intellectual compatibility into consideration. So there was no reason to feel guilty about lusting after the wizard.

Hermione decided that _this_ –whatever it was she (her body? her subconscious?) felt for Malfoy (she decided to categorise it as ' _fascination_ ') – wasn't anything even worth considering as more than exactly that, a fascination. Right now, she didn't actually _know_ Draco Malfoy. And whether or not there was a possible future with the wizard was a moot question since it was very much a thing of both her imagination and the _future_ , and therefore nothing she should be worrying about at all.

She was a rational being, after all, not a Seer.

Honestly.

 _ **Monday (today, Ministry of Magic)**_

Hermione fiddled with the tattered copy of Cecily Plumtricket's _Princum Prancum Magicum_. She glanced at her watch. There was still some time until her lunch date, Blaise, would arrive.

She stifled a yawn. It wasn't that she was tired. No, not exactly. More exhausted, really.

She had spent the better part of Sunday strutting through her flat in her new garments, and then had brought herself to climax (a couple of times, actually). Every time she had thought of the handsome blond Slytherin who had quite suddenly materialised in her life.

Yes, she had insisted – in front of Blaise on Saturday– that her and Draco's meeting at _Sh!_ had been innocent enough. Which it certainly had.

However, she had also come to terms with the conclusion that her strange fascination with her former classmate possibly ran deeper than she had anticipated.

Hermione hummed to herself and absentmindedly flipped through the images of copulating Baroque figures in the ancient book.

Of course, Hermione reasoned this was most likely a perfectly natural response to the circumstances. After all, who would _not_ imagine a handsome, perfectly available male specimen, someone who was educating himself on the mysteries of the female orgasm, in the throes of passion?

No, _that_ was perfectly normal, surely. As was the fact that she had thought of the same blond wizard when she'd brought herself to climax. Repeatedly.

What _had_ Hermione Granger worrying was the frequency in which the smirking Slytherin had invaded her dreams. Not only on Saturday night, but again, last night. Both were such vivid dreams, too, they had her blushing even now.

While the first dream may have been the result of too many glasses of wine consumed, there was no adequate explanation for the dream last night.

Abruptly, Hermione got up and opened one of her windows.

She felt a slight tingling sensation ghosting down her spine just thinking of both her dreams. She was no stranger to orgasming in her sleep; although, to be fair, it had never happened two nights in a row. Also, the feelings involved had never been quite that intense.

Even though Hermione could perfectly rationalise why her subconscious had chosen the dungeons, the Potions classroom in particular, as the backdrop for their first nocturnal _tête-à-tête_ , she couldn't fathom why her subconscious had taken her and Malfoy to the Room of Hidden Things for their second _rendezvous_ , where they'd shagged standing between the stacks of broken furniture and stashed away instruments.

Why, she wondered, hadn't they (or her subconscious, for that matter) simply conjured a more erotic setting?

The sun was already standing high. Hermione checked her watch. Still a couple more minutes until Blaise would be here. She knew his department had a pressing meeting this morning, and it was possible that he'd be late. _They'd probably Ffloo to the Leaky to have a quick lunch sandwich_ , she mused.

An idea flashed through her mind.

Hermione _Accio_ 'ed _Prinkum Prankum Magicum_ , flipped to the front and perused the table of contents.

 _i. The Ancient and Most Noble Sorcerey of Sappho, also known as Princum Prancum Magicum.  
(In which the Origin, Design, and Principles of the Ancient and Noble Art of Princum Prancum Magicum are elaborated –1–, and the Modi, Workings, and Limitations of Arcadian, Lesbian, and Cytherean Sorcery are presented –58–)_

 _ii. Worshipping the Goddesses.  
(In which we shall discover the Celebration of the Solstices–110–, Hallow's Eve –154–, and Samhain –201–, and explore the Heightening of Carnal Powers –232–) _

_iii. Lusting and Magycking in Solitude.  
(In which we shall discover how to achieve the Sublime Dream –316–, the Powers and Purposes of the Erotic Unconscious –369–, as well as–_

There it was. Hermione flitted to Chapter Three ' _Lusting in Solitude'_ , and opened page 316. Perusing the pages, one paragraph, in particular, caught her eye:

 _In_ Princum Prancum Magicum, _as we call the Art of Carnal Magyck,_ _the Sublime Dream, also known as the_ Kiss of Amor and Psyche _, is amongst the most effective means to awaken dormant magyckal powers. As a method, the Sublime Dream is almost as difficult as it is powerful; and one might, if the instructions not be followed in their entirety and according to our most knowledgeable advice, be confronted with defeat or devastation. Since the early days of Arcadian, Cytherean and Lesbian magic, the Sublime Dream has been known to be utilised as a means to strengthen the emotional and carnal bonds between lovers; there have also been cases of Sublime Dreams across the boundaries between creatures. It does not follow, however, that the Sublime Dream has to be performed as a party._

 _Inherent to the achievement of the Sublime Dream is the reconnection with the innermost desires and wishes. Should more than one person wish to perform a Sublime Dream, or if a Sublime Dream is meant to enhance the bond between two or more persons, a strong emotional and carnal bond between all magyckal persons involved is of the essence. The incantation is based on…_

Hermione skimmed the next couple of passages until she came to the part elaborating the markers of a Sublime Dream:

 _The Sublime Dream, unlike than the common nocturnal phantasy, is distinguished by its intensity, both in regards to its vividness, as in respect to the experiences of the senses. During a Sublime Dream a magyckal being may witness olfactory, visual, sometimes even tactile sensations that may be equally as intense (if not more intensely felt) as experiences during the daytime. Another common marker is that a Sublime Dream will very rarely be forgotten. Instead, the experience generally proves to be so powerful that it might infiltrate the common dream, alas in a less vivid manner–_

This made her pause. When she had awoken from her dream on Saturday, she could have sworn that she had still felt Malfoy's touches on her skin, and that she'd still smelled his perfume. In fact, it had lingered in her room well until she had gotten up.

Could she possibly have experienced a Sublime Dream?

 _Although the achievement of a Sublime Dream, and therefore the realisation of the full potential of subconsciously dormant carnal powers, is in equal parts reliant on the i) incantation, ii) the purposeful opening of the mind, iii) and the conjuring of a strong mental image of the carnal objective, there have been cases known to us, however seldom, where similar or almost identical states to the Sublime Dream have unwittingly been achieved._

 _We have seen this to be true in cases of persons who have been lovers for a long time; sometimes husbands and wives; but we have also recorded cases between young lovers. There have even been instances of cross-creatural achievements of a Sublime Dream, as well as, to our knowledge, a most singular occurrence of an accidental Sublime Dream shared between a triple party._

 _As we have concluded, all these cases are distinguished by a strong emotional and carnal connection shared between all magical beings involved, which are usually grounded on long-lasting companionships. The most important circumstance, however, which is inherent to all these accidental cases, is that the parties either still are, or have been, separated over a long period of time. These kinds of separations don't always have to translate in great geographical distances; as a famous case in Verona has shown, also restrictions of class and society may act as hurdles the magical subconscious strives to overcome. It is for that reason that the Sublime Dream is also known as The Kiss of Eros and Psyche, the ancient lovers who have been separated by the limits of mortality, as the potential carnal power and the strong emotional bond work to overcome any obstacles in order to realise a potentially powerful connection of carnal magyck–_

"Cheers, Granger! You're not still working, are you?"

Hermione almost fell from her chair. She had been so absorbed in the study of the tome, that she had completely missed Blaise swaggering into her office.

"No, it's nothing with work."

In long strides, Blaise crossed the room and stood next to her to kiss her hello.

"The sublime dream? What by Merlin's tits is that?"

Hermione tried to close the tome quickly, but Blaise had already taken the book and deciphered the keywords.

"'The Sublime Dream, unlike than the common nocturnal phantasy, is distinguished by its intensity, both in regards to its vividness, as in respect to the experiences of the senses.' Haven't had any intense wet dreams recently, have you?"

Hermione snatched the book out of his hands and shut it into her desk.

"Of course not." But she couldn't hide the blush creeping up her neck.

"About anyone we know? Malfoy, maybe?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Sure, Granger." Blaise smirked devilishly at her. "Whatever makes you sleep at night."

"Do you want to go to lunch or not?" Hermione snapped and retrieved her jacket. "I don't have all day, you know."

A grinning Blaise in tow, Hermione stalked out of her office.

Just as they crossed the Atrium walking towards the furnaces, an angry voice echoed through the hall.

"Hey! _HEY!_ Wait just a second, you wanker."

The pair swirled around to see a shock of white-blond hair over billowing emerald green robes menacingly striding towards them through a group of gaping bystanders.

" _ZABINI_! Don't you _DARE_ run away from me again!"

By all appearances, the furious wizard storming towards them had a bone to pick. And whenever Draco Malfoy was furious, _no one_ should stand in his way.

"Here we go", Blaise sighed, " _hell hath seen no fury like a Malfoy scorned."_

* * *

 ** _It's Harry's and Jo's Birthday! Let's celebrate with... another cliffy! Yeah, sorry about that (not really lol). I_ am _sorry, however, that the next update won't be quite as quick as this one (the chapter was already written and beta'ed). I'm working on it though, and it *does* help exeedingly if you let me know what you think, or like about this, or where you think this is going. Much love, until next time! Lynx xx_**


	4. Chapter 4: The Vanishing of the Cabinet

**_Monday morning, Malfoy Manor_**

The bright full moon shone through the tall windows and illuminated the slightly moving contours of a sleeping man, pale hair and features almost glowing in the nocturnal light.

Although deep in slumber, he was tossing and turning, clearly perturbed by an adventurous dream. All of a sudden, a chuckle escaped his lips, and his eyes snapped open, silvery orbs sparkling in the dark. In a flurry of flailing movements, he sat up, wildly glancing around.

The eerie surroundings made Draco Malfoy feel momentarily disoriented. And then there was the multitude of feelings crushing into his consciousness that had him almost blindsided. There was this inexplicable soreness in his limbs and muscles, and yet an uninhibited joy coursing through his veins that made him want to laugh out loud.

Thoroughly exhausted though he was, he decided not to think about it any longer. He drifted off to sleep soon after, a smile on his lips and the smell of lavender and jasmine and orange blossoms in his nose.

* * *

Billowing clouds were scattered all over the light-blue summer sky. Draco's silhouette was dark against the morning sun, as he watched them chasing each other.

 _Great. That means it's probably going to rain later._

He rolled his shoulders.

As Cassandra, the large handsome owl, flapped away, he closed the window to the Breakfast Parlour. He moved back to the table and reached for the cup of tea sat in front of him. The steam was twirling into the air, dancing around, to and fro, and then twisting into nothing.

Draco felt tired. Tired and _sore_.

He fumbled with the dish. The porcelain clanked against its saucer, and the spoon clattered noisily onto the table.

An onslaught of images came rushing to forefront of his mind.

 _Draco delighted in the softness of her skin, as his hands travelled under her shirt and caressed her right hip, her breast, and her nipple, while his left hand held onto her arse. He slammed his cock back into her cunt._

 _The witch keened in pleasure, her hands gripped the black piece of furniture in front of them so tightly that the white of her knuckles were showing._

 _BANG! CLANG! BANG!_

 _'Oh yes, Draco, YES!' she cried, 'Give it to me! Give it to me harder! PLEEEAAASE! HAARDERR'_

 _The witch bucked and pushed out her arse, arching her back. Draco grabbed her hind and tilted his hips. He fucked her in deep, languid strokes while the cabinet echoed his movements with a satisfying, rattling staccato._

He grabbed his cup and forced down a large gulp of tea, willing the flashing images to disappear like his drink.

The scalding liquid burnt his tongue.

 _BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

 _'YESSSS!' he hissed through clenched teeth, 'Just like that… mmhh... show me that pert little bum!'_

 _Draco's right stroked her buttocks, her cleft, her belly, with a tenderness that contrasted with the sharp punishing snaps of his hips._

Draco swallowed.

 _CLANG! BANG! BANG!_

 _His hands travelled along her sides and firmly gripped both her hips. He pulled her upper body tightly against his chest, nuzzling the side of her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and jasmine and a hint of something else._

 _'Hold–on–tight– love,' he grunted into her ear between thrusts, as his legs widened her stance. Hermione, still holding onto the edges of the furniture in front of her, let out a whimper and then Draco fucked her,_ really _fucked her, against the old Vanishing Cabinet._

Draco choked down another gulp of his tea.

This time, they'd gone at it in the Room of Hidden Things, of all places. He _hated_ that room. Although, thinking about it _now_ , it didn't seem _all_ that terrible anymore.

 _Their shared moans and sighs echoed from high ceilings, only drowned out by the clanking of the wood they were rutting against. The faster and faster they moved, the louder the Cabinet shook until the witch quivered and stiffened and keened in delight, and the wizard shuddered and groaned in ecstasy as he poured and poured and poured his seed into her._

 _Completely spent, they both fell onto the old Vanishing Cabinet, which – creaking and quaking and with a foreboding shiver – collapsed into a heap of wooden pieces._

 _The exhausted couple found themselves entangled with the remnants of what used to be the Vanishing Cabinet, and, drunk of their post orgasmic high, they couldn't help but laugh and laugh and laugh–_

Draco gulped down another sip of tea.

As much as he willed himself to focus on the present, he couldn't shake the sense of deep satisfaction overwhelming that had settled in his still exhausted limbs after the dream. He couldn't forget how it'd felt when he had fucked her, when he came in her; the witch, moaning and sighing, smelling of the salt of arousal and jasmine and lavender; the witch who felt soft and warm, who made _him_ feel soft and warm. And he still felt the overpowering sense of elation as the blasted cabinet had – finally – crashed under them.

Draco crossed his legs and stared unseeing out of the window. The gleeful exhaustion of hours earlier was long gone.

He felt for the parchment he had yesterday stuffed none too gently into his trouser pockets.

 _Drakey!_

 _I can't tell you how positively delighted I am at the thought of hexing you – especially since your ridiculous little Howler's bloody well screamed me out of my bed._

 _It's fucking SUNDAY!_

 _Fuck you, Malfoy - FUCK YOU!_

 _So, unfortunately, NO, I did NOT 'curse' you, and neither did Granger – although I wouldn't put it completely beside her. Merlin knows you've earned the right to be hexed by her several times over. And if you were quite bovine enough to send her one of these lovely little Howlers, too I can promise you, there WILL be cursing._

 _However (and not that you'd believe me), when I entertained her last night (which, incidentally, is the reason I was too preoccupied to answer your previous owl–-yes, Malfoy, SOME of us do have lady friends to spend out Saturday evenings with!), she did not seem as if she was harbouring any ill will towards you; quite the opposite, actually. Then again, one never really knows with women, does one?_

 _That said, we all know what a saint Granger is. Well, actually, she's probably a bit too dirty, if I'm being perfectly honest. (A dirty saint, haha.) The point is, Granger's always the champion for a lost cause, and since that is precisely what you are, THAT was why I'd asked her to accompany you to the 'fucking muggle shop'. That, and she practically lives there, too. Also, I knew she'd be more than happy to teach you everything you needed to know about female pleasure._

 _Well then, you obnoxious wanker, hope you're satisfied._

 _–B._

 _P.S. Procured the bottiglia we wanted for Wednesday. Cost me almost a Nimbus 3000. Hope you're not too cursed to cancel._

He frowned at the piece of parchment. Count on Blaise to make a joke of his predicament.

He read the letter again and the the last bit made his temper rise.

 _Fucking Zabini._

It didn't say anything at all.

It was pure mockery.

Granger might or might not have hexed him. Fucking tosser being purposefully vague. Draco snorted. Of course he was.

 _Pshaw_.

The fact that Blaise didn't _appear_ to know anything about the dreams, didn't say anything at all, did it?

He gritted his teeth.

What a bloody waste of time.

Naturally, Draco had immediately composed a response demanding to see Blaise as soon as possible. He had waited, in vain, for a response. So just this morning he'd sent another letter to Blaise's secretary requesting an appointment at Mr Zabini's earliest convenience to discuss a matter of utmost importance.' He was still waiting for answer to that one as well.

Draco tapped his fingers against his wand and absent-mindedly summoned today's Prophet from the pile of letters on the sideboard, almost knocking over the exuberant bouquet of poppies, daffodils and moon flowers from his mother's garden.

Hermias Whitlock had written yet another piece about the Squib Legislation. Granger's legislation, as Draco knew.

He sighed.

Hermione Granger. It was almost uncanny how he couldn't seem to elude the witch these days.

Skimming the letter once again, he scowled at Blaise having 'entertained' Granger and been too 'preoccupied' to answer, as it were.

The darkening clouds outside were swirling in dramatic patterns.

Never before had he contemplated Blaise having a thing for Granger. He usually fawned over the Weasley girl. But that was done more in jest, wasn't it? Then again, and Draco scrunched his nose in irritation, for a couple of months now his friend _had_ been making a point of disregarding blood-status.

Visions of Granger sighing against his chest clashed with the unbidden image of Granger and Blaise entangled in silken sheets.

Draco's fingers dug painfully into the cool porcelain of the teacup.

"...when I entertained her last night…"

If Granger and Blaise were a thing, wouldn't have Blaise been at her place? The letter stated, well, not actually stated, but it _implied_ that he had been at home. Then again, maybe they'd been at _Casa Nova_ together.

Draco gulped down more hot tea.

'Good morning, dear! How wonderful to see you up so early.'

Draco scrunched his nose and put the letter away.

'Morning, mother. I was just reading the papers. And this came for you.' He handed his mother, ever the sight of elegance, a linen envelope.

'Oh, how lovely.' His mother bent down to kiss her son on the cheek. She frowned and eyed Draco curiously but then took the envelope without another word, and sat down across from him.

'A thank you note from dear Pansy. Ahh… It was so lovely having them last night, wasn't it?' she gave her son a meaningful glance over her porcelain tea cup.

Her son was overtly glowering into the Daily Prophet ( _'Prophet Exclusive! Squibs speak out! the Struggle, Strive, and Life as a Non-magical Pureblood'_ flashed in bright letters across the front page). He mumbled one thing or other in brief acknowledgement.

'Wasn't it just wonderful seeing her and dear Theo together? And so happy, too!'

'Very.' He turned a page of the Prophet.

'After seeing them together, you have to agree, darling, they are such a lovely couple. Very well matched, don't you agree?' His mother soldiered on.

'Absolutely, mother.'

Draco kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands as not to give his mother any sort of opening to what she _actually_ wanted to talk about.

Fucking Theo!

Not only was he _effectively_ the reason why he'd lost the blasted wager, now he was _directly_ responsible for his mother's continuous badgering him about his relationship status.

'You know, darling, there is something very poetic about these two… They've known each other their whole lives, but only now did they truly find each other.' Narcissa sighed dramatically, and sipped her tea.

'Indeed.'

Draco turned another page and continued his perusal. What it was exactly that he was reading, Draco had no idea anymore. Letters and moving images were flashing in front of his eyes, while he was concentrated on drowning out what his mother was going on and on about. He did _not_ need to hear, for the umpteenth time, that _surely_ would he find someone if he just bothered to look; and oh, why wasn't he looking; and wouldn't he like her to set something up; just yesterday Madam Fawley, you remember her, don't you, darling, had mentioned a niece who'd just graduated from Beauxbaton…

No. He did not need this conversation. Not now, not ever.

But especially not now.

On top of it, his recollection of their tête-à-tête was staggeringly different. After dinner, while his mother and Pansy had been chattering away about their usual nonconsequential nonsense, Draco had finally gotten around to asking Theo how he and Pansy had ended up together in the first place. Theo then told him that it'd happened at Zabini's. It was over the course of the evening that he'd realised he found Pansy attractive, but he had so gotten used to always antagonising her. And after a couple of glasses of wine everything had started falling into place.

 _'It was the strangest thing, really. It was as if suddenly I could see her clearly; and myself, too. And I started asking myself why the bleeding hell I was fucking around when I had this witch, you know,' and Theo had sipped his drink. 'I just felt that it didn't make sense to rile her up all the time when I could… err…_ rile her up _, you know.'_

This basically confirmed Draco's worst suspicions: Blaise was somehow responsible. But when he'd asked Theo about foul play, and whether anything at all had been out of the ordinary, possibly involving Zabini, Theo had just laughed away his worries and smacked Draco on his back, thanking him for being such a good mate, but no, there was no reason to be worried, and anyway what a ridiculous notion that was since Blaise couldn't possibly be continuously drugging him with Amortentia.

Only marginally placated by the response, Draco then had asked Theo whether he had ever experienced any _weird dreams_ involving Pansy. He was secretly hoping that at least there his friend might supply similar experiences. But Theo had just eyed Draco strangely and laughed as to why he would _dream_ about Pansy when he could just wake her up and _actually_ fuck her whenever he wanted to.

Not particularly keen on the details of Theo and Pansy's bedroom habits, Draco had immediately dropped the matter.

Now, flicking through the pages of the Monday issue and the plebeian nonsense page 9 had to offer ( _MeEt Oliver Wood, Puddlemore United'S 'Fit' NEW TRAINER_ ), Draco pulled out Blaise's reply once again.

 _'... she did not seem as if she was harbouring any ill will towards you; quite the opposite, actually._ Then again, one never really knows with women, does one? _'_

What did Blaise mean by ' _the opposite'_? Surely, Granger wouldn't be attracted to him, would she?

The thought had Draco almost laugh out loud.

A vicious voice from the back of his head supplied that it hardly mattered, if Blaise and Granger were an item.

 _Clack. Clack. Clack._

'Oh, a ministry owl,' his mother intercepted his thoughts. 'Did you correspond with the Regulations Department again?'

With a flick of her wand, the window opened and a large barn owl swooped into the room and towards Draco.

'Something like that,' he muttered and made to untie the parchment from its outstretched leg. Mirroring ministry efficiency, the owl immediately returned and flew out the window.

He unfolded the parchment.

 _Dear Mr Malfoy,_

 _Thank you for your request. As Mr Zabini is set to leave for Italy, the next possible appointment would be on Wednesday, 17th May , from 2-4 p.m. Please confirm ifI you would like me to set up an appointment._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Augusta Osbert-Smith, Secretary to Mr Blaise Girolamo Zabini, Chevalier de Seingalt_  
 _Undersecretary of International Affairs, Europe  
_ Department of Intermagical International Relations D.I.I.R. (fmr Department of International Magical Cooperation) of the Ministry of Magic M.o.M.

Draco snorted. Of course Zabini would instruct his secretary not to give him appointment. But he would not walk around with a curse until Wednesday, thank you very much. Especially not when Blaise was having a laugh at him for lusting after Granger.

The whole thing got Draco worked up again, and he was just about to send a not particularly polite response, when he realised, that a response should much better be delivered in person.

Zabini shan't evade him.

A cup clanked loudly against its saucer and Draco's mind instantly conjured the image of two bodies smacking against the side of a black cabinet. He squeezed his eyes shut to will away the onslaught of images of bouncing wild curls, tongue and lips grazing her ear, whispering naughty words, while she bucked against him and –

'–so what do you say, Draco? '

'Sorry, mother. What's that?' To mask his confusion, he took a sip from his tea.

Narcissa Malfoy eyed her stoney-faced son through piercing eyes. 'I was talking about Philomena Fawley. How about a luncheon next week?' she intoned in faux-patience.

Draco had no idea _who_ by Merlin's bollocks his mother was talking about. What he _did_ know was that a pure-blooded witch named after a famous virgin was _certainly not_ his preferred company.

'Sounds marvellous, mother. Unfortunately, I'm quite tied up at the moment. There are a couple of ancient scrolls I need to procure. And then, there are a couple of new business ventures I _have_ to discuss with Zabini as soon as possible... which, sadly, will make a formal luncheon during the next couple of weeks quite impossible.'

Draco got up and strode over to mother to give her kiss on the cheek. She continued to examine him through hawk eyes.

'What a pity, darling. I do understand, though, that you're terribly busy. You young men usually are.' She sighed theatrically and watched as her son walked stiffly out of the breakfast parlour. She grabbed the abandoned Prophet and, with a frown, started to read Rita Skeeter's egregious commentary on why the new Squib Legislation was, really, a malediction of the Muggle-borns.

* * *

Draco slammed the door and aggressively stalked down the corridors of the Department of International Intermagical Relations _._ Alarmed ministry officials jumped out of his way at every corner.

He had missed Zabini, yet again.

All that tiny Mrs Osbert-Smith would tell him was that 'Mr Zabini had a meeting and probably went to lunch early'. However, something in Draco's eyes and the whitening knuckles as he gripped her desk whilst towering over her had miraculously rendered her more forthcoming. 'O-o-on M-Mondays M-Mr Zabini a-and Miss Granger go out to lunch–the Leaky Cau-Cauldron, Sir', she had finally offered with wide eyes.

 _Fucking great_ , Draco thought as he marched through the corridors, his heels echoing menacingly from the stone floors.

Not enough that Zabini refused to help him, let alone _meet_ him, now he had to track him down like some kind of house-elf.

He stepped into the lift, and now that he could not walk, he was forced to stand still, his mind circled around the fact that Blaise would keep him waiting but made time for Granger.

Blaise who would spend his Saturday nights with Granger.

Blaise who was friends with Granger.

Blaise who went to Sh! with Granger.

Blaise who was probably _in love_ with Granger.

The train of thought made something in his stomach painfully twist and turn. He gripped the wall for support.

When the stopping and jerking lift finally arrived at the Ministry Atrium, Draco had worked himself up into a frenzy. The gates banged shut and uncannily conjured yet another memory of two bodies smashing against the Vanishing Cabinet in the throes of pleasure.

Not minding the other passengers, Draco pushed out and strode purposefully towards the fireplaces.

 _There!_

He spotted an all-too-familiar mop of wild chestnut curls, and sure enough, there was the tall and broad figure of Blaise Zabini.

'Hey! _HEY!_ Wait just a second, you wanker.'

The pair turned around, and Draco rushed towards them, not minding any of the witches and wizards standing in his way.

' _ZABINI_! Don't you _DARE_ run away from me again!'

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so bloody sorry for the long wait. I'm less than happy with what I came up with, but I was getting mad at myself for not continuing in a somewhat timely manner. So, I hope you don't hate me. Massive fanks to my beta MotherofBulls who made sure that it's less of a mess. And in keeping with the Birthday update, this is one too: I'm turning 30 today! (Cue pity party in the comment section.) Love, Lynx P.S. This chapter is dedicated to whoever nominated this story for the** **Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook Summer Awards. OMG! THANK. YOU. Please let me know who you are.  
**

 **Update Author's Note 5 March 2019: Since I'm pretty unhappy with this piece, the first chapters are currently undergoing a major re-write. I do apologise to anyone who is following this work and who has been hoping for an update. It's under works, I promise, but this is (in part) the reason for why it's been taking me so long. Thank you for sticking with me anyway :) Cheers, Lynx**


	5. Chapter 5: Spilling

**_This chapter had help from sarena (alpha), HeartofAspen (alpha/beta), and MotherofBulls (beta). If you haven't done so already, go and check out their stories - they're wonderful!_** [Updated on September 28, 2019, for minor plot stuff, grammar and spelling mistakes.]

* * *

 ** _Sh-Shopping Spree_**

 ** _Chapter 5_**

 **"Spilling"**

* * *

 _ **Monday at noon, Ministry for Magic, Atrium**_

Hermione's blood froze in her veins at the sight of Draco charging towards her, dark robes billowing. She glanced at Blaise with apprehension. 'Why is Draco so angry at you?' Her voice sounded coarse. She swallowed with difficulty.

'We'll find out soon enough, won't we, darling?'

His mouth quirked into a secretive smile and Hermione frowned. It was almost disturbing how Blaise's good mood seemed eternally unwavering, even now, when she was nauseous with dread and worry. Today's Draco Malfoy seemed nothing like Saturday's.

'Dracoooo!' Blaise cooed as Draco stopped just inches from them, eyes glinting dangerously. 'Fancy seeing you here!'

'Yes, quite the surprise, isn't it,' Draco hissed through gritted teeth. 'After owling you _three times_ , who would've _possibly_ guessed that I had a pressing matter to discuss!'

Blaise chuckled. 'Oh come on. It'll hardly be a matter of life and death, won't it?'

The expression in Draco's eyes hardened. 'And you're the one who gets to decide?' His fists were clenched at his sides.

'Ah well,' said Blaise good-naturedly. 'It certainly is not an excuse to ignore your good manners. Say hello to Granger.' He edged a reluctant Hermione into the circle they had formed in the busy atrium. They were now standing so close that Hermione could taste traces of Draco's scent on her tongue; bergamot, cedar, and lavender. Her body reacted instantly. A shudder ran down her spine like a small electrical jolt, and she felt strangely weightless. It was, as if she were floating, instead of being surrounded by hundreds of witches and wizards during their precious lunch hour on a Monday.

'Granger.' Draco hadn't even looked at her. His face still flushed with anger, was fixed on Blaise.

Her heart constricted in her chest. She had thought they had gotten along so well. She had thought that the charming and inquisitive man she'd met was the Draco Blaise always had in mind when he teased her about him. They had clicked. And the magic of the Sublime Dream seemed to confirm all of it. Or so she had thought.

Studying his face, she was struck by the familiarity of it. If it weren't for his irises, which were contracted to minuscule dots in his narrowed eyes, she could've painted a perfect portrait of him. She knew where angry red blotches would bloom on his throat. She could predict the way the tendrils in his neck would strain, or how his blush would only tinge the tops of his cheeks, and then spread over the bridge of his nose...

 _Her fingertips explored his flushed and sweaty cheek as he pounded into her with fervour, with abandon. She tilted her hips upwards from the wooden surface of the Vanishing Cabinet to meet his violent thrusts, and she could feel her desire trickling onto him. The heat within her was growing unbearable, ready to explode. His eyes, even brighter from the exertion and partially hidden by his heavy eyelids, were almost swallowed by the dark of his pupils. Her skin prickled from the sensations, her heart was beating frantically, her breath stuttering. The need to touch him was overwhelming. She caressed the bright spots of red tinting his cheeks and his nose. As she did, his eyes met hers and his mouth opened slightly. A groan escaped his lips. His breath became more ragged as his grip on her legs tightened and he pulled her closer, burying himself even deeper within her.._.

The angry voices of Blaise and Draco pulled her back into the noisy Atrium.

'—hardly think that here's the place to discuss personal matters.'

'—not getting away again!'

Hermione twisted her clammy hands into the straps of her beaded bag, rooting herself into the accessory, hoping that no one would notice her burning face. Someone jostled against her shoulder, and the beaded bag swung dangerously. Something inside toppled and fell with a thud.

A book. _The_ book.

She blinked, acutely aware of their surroundings and even more conscious of Draco's coloured cheeks and shining eyes. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She lifted her chin. 'How about,' she said over the arguing men, twisting one strap around her fingers, 'If we move on to the Leaky Cauldron? Blaise and I were on our way there anyway.'

Draco who had been about to retort something snapped his head around. His hard gaze slid over her and storm-grey eyes pierced hers.

The effect was instantaneous. Her heart jumped into in her throat, thundering so loudly she was certain the entire ministry could hear it. His eyes, bright as a frozen lake on a cold winter's day, were cutting right through her like ice; it was as if he could uncover her deepest, most intimate thoughts. The grey eyes of Seers, that was how Homer had described eyes like these. She felt exposed. Bergamot and cedar were clouding her senses, slowing down her bring, while tiny licks of heat raced up and down her spine and over her arms, tingling her palms, making her simultaneously cognisant of everything.

No, not quite everything. Just—

 _'_ _Oh fuck, Granger, you feel so— you feel sooo—.' He groaned and pulled her arse cheeks apart, drilling into her more violently. Their skin was slapping wetly against each other, his balls hitting her labia in the most delicious of ways. 'God. Your cunt is like a fucking sleeve.' His mouth was on her throat, his voice hoarse. 'I fucking can't get enough of you.'_

The thud in her ears grew louder and louder as if someone was increasing the volume. Simultaneously, her skin tingled; not an entirely unpleasant sensation. Hermione rationalised that it must have been blood rushing to the surface that sent her senses into overdrive. The temperature of the Atrium felt cool against her skin, the woollen cloth of her jacket rubbed over the fine material of her blouse, and her hardened nipples were straining against the lace of her brassiere...

The thudding grew louder still, and she finally realised that there was something else at work, something entirely different, pulsing hotly inside of her. It was her magic. Her magic was pulsing. It was not just sharpening her senses; it was as if it was radiating off her in waves, pulling, searching, reaching—

' _—_ idea. Why don't you join us, Malfoy?' Blaise's clear voice cut through her daze. For a moment, no one said a thing. It was as if they had all been hit by a _Petrificus_ spell. Hermione shuffled uncomfortably. Instinctively, she pulled a strand of her hair between her fingers. Draco who had at some point must have turned towards her seemed strangely unfocused. His nostrils flared. His gaze shifted, the storm-grey clouding as he regarded her intently, pupils blown wide. The hairs on her arms stood up. She covertly dropped her eyes to his hands. They were no longer clenched into fists but shivering slightly, and she could clearly make out tiny white hairs arms standing up where pushed back sleeves unveiled sculptured forearms.

The sight had her mouth run dry. Forcing herself to look back up, she met his wide-eyed stare boring into her. Her heart skipped a beat. Bergamot, cedar, lavender swirled around her.

Blaise harrumphed. 'Unlike some, I don't have all day — as you well know. So if you'd try and make a decision in the next half hour or so, I'd be thrilled.' He raised an eyebrow and threw a last lingering look Draco and Hermione's way, before he strode into the next vacant fireplace, vanishing in a flash of green flames.

Draco regarded Hermione blank-faced, probably mirroring her thoughts: The nerve of Blaise Zabini.

'Er, let's go then, shall we?' she said into the silence stretching awkwardly between them. Avoiding his knowing eyes, she fled into the magnificent maze of the London Floo-network, to the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione had always enjoyed this way of magical transportation. There was something about the maelstrom of fireplaces, the glimpses into other magical shops and houses that resonated with her inquisitive nature and her love of even the tiniest spectres of magic. This time though, instead of the familiar tumble of passing furnaces, her head spun from the aftershocks of Draco's scent. For a few moments, Hermione felt as though she was running through a field of purple flowers. Then she felt transported under an old knotty tree, which then transformed into a lemon tree that swayed under the weight of overripe lemons. And then there were her memories, her dreams. As if they had been held back by a dam, they were coming back, all at once. This deluge of images drowned her mind, filled her eyes, ears, and thoughts. She could only think of bodies moving, mouths panting, sighing into each other, his head between her legs... She felt her body reaching that point, twisting, turning, reaching, reaching, _reaching, pulsing, yes, further, deeper, more, more,_ …

 _She threw her head back as her body convulsed violently. Waves of pleasure spread from her core into her limbs and through her body, through every nerve, through every vein, leaving her entirely boneless… she felt his cock twitch as he shuddered through his own orgasm, planting his seed deep within her. He groaned and held her close. A wet and sticky mess slowly dripped out of her, ran over his cock and down her thighs. His mouth was close to her ear as he couldn't stop moaning in pleasure 'Oh god, Granger, oh, oh gosh, yesss…'_

Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace and into the Leaky Cauldron. She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times, and still it took her a few more moments to clear her vision.

How very curious. Making a mental note to look up that particular effect, she flicked her wand and rid herself of residual soot. At the far end of the room, she spotted Blaise sitting at a corner table. She joined him, ignoring the strange smile playing around his lips and the heat in her cheeks.

Moments later, Draco too, tumbled none too graciously out of the floo network. He rid himself of the dirt with care, performing the charms with great accuracy and straightening his robes twice. His dazed expression instantly soured when his eyes fell on Blaise, who was doing a very poor job at hiding his delight.

Draco gritted his teeth as he pulled up a chair, legs scraping loudly over the floor.

'Malfoy,' Blaise replied airily, 'how lovely of you to join us after all! Isn't this so much nicer to sit and talk like cultured people!' He leaned back, crossing his legs casually and glanced around the room. 'Now where's that waitress…'

'I don't—' Hermione tried to intercept, wary of the veins in Draco's temples which were visibly pulsing.

' _You_!' He pointed a finger accusingly at Blaise, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. 'You smug little bastard! Don't you dare avoid the issue again! I've had about enough of your theatrics. Out with it! What have you done to me?'

'What on earth do you mean?' Blaise batted his eyes innocently.

'You know _exactly_ what I mean!' Draco clenched his teeth.

'Oh, is this still about that ridiculous letter?' Draco hissed. Blaise tutted. 'Then, my dearest Drakey, it would appear that your reading skills aren't quite up to par.' Blaise casually draped an arm over the back of Hermione's chair. Draco's eyes flashed and instinctively, Hermione folded her arms across her chest. 'I believe I've made quite clear why our lovely Granger here—,' Blaise distractedly caressed Hermione's arm, who jerked into sitting an even straighter posture, '—was the obvious choice to accompany you to _Sh!_ Isn't that right, darling?' Draco narrowed his eyes into slits.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Draco was faster. 'You know bloody well that _THAT_ is _NOT_ what I'm talking about!' He was almost spitting with rage. If they'd been any place more private, Hermione was sure, he would have shouted at Blaise.

'It seems you have me at a disadvantage. I assumed this whole,' Blaise dismissively waved his hand around the table, 'whatever it is, was about you being a complete and utter prat over the fact that I sent Granger to meet you at the sex shop.'

Hermione's face fell.

Draco cursed under his breath. His eyes flickered to Hermione. 'You _know_ it's _not_!' He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened his mouth for another retort, he was interrupted by Tom, the barkeep, who approached them with a wide, toothless grin.

'Miss Granger, Mr Zabini, how 'ave yer been?' He smiled good-naturedly at them and nodded at Draco.

Pleasantries were exchanged—mainly with Blaise and Hermione, about the wine business and new legislature, respectively—before Tom took their drink orders and, with another huge grin, disappeared behind the counter.

Blaise shifted to face his best friend.

'Where were we? Ah, yes, right—'

Draco leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, lips pressed into a thin white line.

'If it's not Granger — you're not still convinced I cursed you, are you?' Blaise quirked up an eyebrow, smiling slightly, and turned to Hermione, who pretended to show nothing but curiosity. In actuality, she was pretty sure her stomach had just plummeted through the floor. He gesticulated to Draco, who was observing them through the slits of his eyes. 'Our dear friend Draco, here, believes that I have _cursed_ him.' Blaise's chuckle rumbled in his chest. ' _How,_ let alone _why,_ I haven't got the slightest!'

Hermione's mind was racing. After all, she _did_ have a fair guess what Draco was complaining about. This was not good by any stretch of the imagination because it indicated two things. First of all, it would mean her suspicions were right and the magic of the Sublime Dream was at work (which while extraordinary in and of itself, opened up a whole other level of implications she didn't want to think about right now). Secondly, and this was the even more worrisome bit, if Draco was reacting like this, her chances of studying the situation were dwindeling. If she didn't tread very carefully, this singular chance would be just gone. There was a third, unlikely option, namely that it wasn't the Sublime Dream after all, and Blaise had, indeed, been naughty — which, knowing Blaise, was entirely possible.

Cautiously studying both men, Hermione's mind spun. She needed to get Draco alone. It wasn't helping at all that Blaise was being so antagonistic. Why he was behaving so strangely, she had no idea. One thing was certain though, it couldn't possibly end well. Judging by the way Draco's legs were bobbing up and down, and how his nails were digging into his arms, the situation was on the brink of explosion already.

'—must confess,' Blaise continued over Hermione's silent musings, 'I'm still quite at a loss what _exactly_ it is you're suffering from.' He looked Draco up and down. 'You seem quite alright to me— maybe a bit... flushed? But that's understandable seeing how—' the corners of his mouth quirked up almost unnoticeably, '—excitable you are.'

Draco's whole demeanour crumpled. 'You fucking arrogant piece of—' His whisper-shout was barely audible beyond their table, but Hermione noticed with alarm how his knuckles were turning white as he gripped the table.

'Tsk, tsk, tsk! Manners, Drakey, manners.' Blaise made a show of glancing around the room. 'We're in the company of a lady, after all!'

Draco's chair scraped across the floor and he was suddenly standing, leaning over the table; his fists clenched around the wood, as if ready to jump over the barrier to rip Blaise's head off.

'All right! That's quite enough.' Hermione brought her hands firmly down onto the table. They were lucky that the lunch hour at the Leaky Cauldron was always a busy and noisy affair; it was in nobody's interest to have _Witch Weekly_ twist their meeting into something ridiculous like a sordid love triangle between a high-ranking ministry official, a celebrated war-heroine, and a Sacred Twenty-Eight heir.

Draco, who appeared to have been about to give a retort, snapped his mouth shut. With a flick of her wand, the chair moved back. Draco fell back in his seat, once again folding his arms protectively across his chest. His flashing eyes were the only indicator that he was still ready to explode.

Hermione's intervention was aided by the appearance of the strawberry-blonde barmaid Tom had hired sometime after the war. She placed their drinks and the menus onto the table and sashayed away, hips swaying under Blaise's appreciative gaze. Despite the situation, Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. Draco turned to glare at her.

'It's funny to you, is it?' he sneered, 'You tell me then, Granger, if Blaise insists on being obtuse. What did _you_ do to me?'

'Excuse me?'

'THE BLOODY CURSE! YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT BACK!' his voice cut through the pub like a knife. A couple of patrons turned to look at them. A warlock at the bar craned his head in their direction.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Producing her wand, she quickly cast a Muffliato charm around their table. 'First of all, would you calm down?' Draco withered under her glare. 'Secondly—' she turned to face Blaise, who had been chuckling, 'I've had about enough of this circus. Out with it! What have you done? And don't even try to deny it, Blaise Zabini. It's quite clear that you've done _something_.'

Blaise considered her for a moment, carefully looking from Draco who sat there rigidly, arms crossed and jaw clenched, to Hermione. His response came slowly. 'You know what, Granger,' he paused and leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table and folded his hands. 'I don't actually know!' His lips twisted into an arrogant smirk, eyes sparkling, as he regarded Draco who seemed good and ready to flip said table.

'Strangely enough, Drak—'

'Blaise.' Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

'What?' He coughed and his expression finally grew more serious. 'Well, Draco never told me the specifics of this supposed _curse_. All I know is that, whatever it is, it started on Saturday — Saturday night maybe — and that it seems to not have gone away.' Blaise leaned back into his seat and crossed his legs. 'Certainly a curiosity. Although I never took it seriously until now. I assumed Draco was being a sore loser and sent all these Howlers to get back at me.'

There was a moment of awkward silence.

Hermione took a deep, calming breath. Draco seemed to have calmed down as well; the hard look was gone. Instead, his expression was blank. Her eyes dropped to his hands. He was fiddling with his glass. His index finger kept tracing the geometric engravings on his tankard. 'Why don't you tell us exactly what it is you're accusing us of doing, Draco?'

A muscle under his eye twitched. 'You—' he licked his lips, '—you really don't know?'

Hermione bit back the snippy retort that was sitting on her tongue. 'No, I do not, Draco.' She grabbed her butterbeer. Thanks to the stasis charm, the glass was still nice and cool. It was soothing against her flushed skin. She cleared her throat and raised her eyes to meet his. They were light, so very light. 'Tell me. What seems to be the problem? Even if I am not to blame,' she said carefully, shooting a stern glare Blaise's way, 'I still might be able to help you.'

They were interrupted, again, by the busty barmaid.

Draco didn't know what to think. He studied her while she perused the menu and Blaise flirted shamelessly with the waitress. Her face was open, even, her brown eyes were large, like mirrors, full of sincerity. He studied her more closely. Her painted red lips were curved into a smile. She was always smiling, of course she was. Granger was the epitome of heartfelt kindness. He almost snorted at the thought. How else would she have suffered idiots such as Longbottom and Weasley?

One thing seemed clear though. Granger was not to blame for whatever was happening to him.

She turned the page of her menu and her brow furrowed. He realised that she puckered her lips just slightly while she was deep in thought. She picked up her butterbeer, hand curling tightly around the glass and drank deeply. A drop of butterbeer almost escaped and she pressed her lips together to catch the excess liquid. His eyes were glued to her lips — her enticingly red lips. He knew those lips. He had seen those lips. Had seen them wrapped around his steel-hard dick as she kissed him, licked him, as she swallowed him whole—

Heat spread through his body like wildfire and his groin tightened immediately. He shifted in his chair. Granger looked up and her dark eyes were boring into him like daggers. His body, the fucking treacherous, unreliable thing, responded in an instant. Ignoring the hammering in his chest, he glued his eyes back to the menu and ordered his mind away from Granger's talented mouth to focus on the real problem at hand.

Here he was, faced with the one scenario he had always rejected: that neither Zabini nor Granger had anything to do with his 'condition.' Yet, here he was, facing the possibility that those dreams were really _just_ wet dreams— intense though they may be—but perfectly ordinary, if slightly depraved wet dreams nonetheless.

 _Fuck._

He chanced a look at Blaise who seemed entirely too cheery for his liking. He was still chatting up the barmaid. They were talking about wine and love and Italy. Typical. What was it with Zabini and love? Draco almost chimed in to say something sarcastic, when the memory of their conversation of just a few days ago materialised with the force of a bludger to his head.

 _'_ _I am not in love with Granger!'_

 _'_ _Oh, but I never said anything about love.'_

Fucking Zabini.

What if… what if he really just had the hots for Granger?

 _Fucking fuckfuck._

If all of this was just his overactive imagination —just his libido gone wild, not something as far-fetched and utterly ridiculous as a suppressed crush — he had to come up with a feasible explanation as to what the fuss had been about. Granger would want an explanation, and judging by the way she was looking at him, she would not let this go.

He scowled down at his menu. The unbidden thought crossed his mind that all of this was unsettlingly familiar to what his mother had said this morning. The daily specials blurred before his eyes as Draco considered his options.

There was no way on earth that he would confess to what had happened these last two nights. Even if Granger could be counted on to be helpful and sympathetic, he'd bet his inheritance on the fact that Blaise would happily use every dirty little secret to his own... entertainment, advantage, or whatever it was Blaise did.

He would do the same, after all.

So honesty was _not_ an option. The thought almost made him laugh out loud.

He took a large sip from his butterbeer and realised that his companions were looking at him expectantly, their menus already closed on the table. Blaise the fucking prick was sporting that bloody fucking annoying grin again, no surprise there, while Granger was studying him with those deep eyes as if he was a puzzle she was about to solve.

Flipping through his menu again, he pretended to be still undecided about his lunch choice and ignored Blaise's eye-rolling. The other two started to discuss politics.

Draco was fairly certain he could trust Granger. She would show sympathy and compassion, just like he had seen her do it for all the Gryffindor twats back at school. Never once had she laughed at Longbottom or Weasley whenever they had asked idiotic questions — and there had been some spectacularly dim ones. He remembered one instance in particular during Potions in Fifth Year where Longbottom had actually wanted to know why one had to adjust the heat of the cauldron before adding dragon blood. How one could _not_ laugh at such incompetence was truly beyond him. Indeed, Draco hadn't stopped laughing for the rest of the hour. Back then, Granger had just given him a disapproving look and continued explaining as if asking First Year questions wasn't utterly ridiculous.

Problem was, he wasn't one of her friends. Would that change anything? His fingertips danced over the cool surface of the tankard. Maybe he ought to take a page out of Longbottom's book and appeal to her compassion...

Draco shifted in his seat. Glancing carefully over his menu he was pleased to see Blaise and Granger still deep in conversation. They appeared to be discussing his Italian assignment and some sort of function in a Tuscan Villa with a renowned collection of something or other for which he needed a date.

Blaise must have made a joke because Granger started laughing.

Draco ignored the burning in his chest. He needed her to sympathise with him, and then, he needed her alone. With Blaise out of the way, he'd be safe to entrust her with his problems, or parts of it, at least. So far, he had exhibited a pathetic lack of patience, and to pull this one off, he needed to be patient. Draco could almost hear his father lecturing him about his temper, that it would get the better of him if he wasn't more careful.

The faint sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

'You're so lucky that you're getting away from here, at least for a bit,' Granger said, sighing wistfully. 'The weather is supposed to be atrocious for the next couple of days.'

Fucking great. He had forgotten about the rain. That was just what he needed, walking up to the Manor without an umbrella. He scowled. Come to think of it, where had he left his bloody umbr—

The idea struck him suddenly, like lightning. Draco almost cajoled in triumph. He knew exactly how he would get Granger alone.

Just then, the barmaid materialised at their table to take their orders. Draco forced a stern expression as he ordered the first thing that he saw on the menu that didn't sound entirely horrible. At this point, he didn't care if he would be eating game pie or maggots. His elation was such that it didn't even bother him that Blaise was, once again, flirting with the tart.

He eyed Granger, who was laughing along. Her eyes were sparkling and she was leaning slightly forward, giving him a hint of her pair of fantastic tits underneath that proper blouse. It upset his hormone-riddled body. Now she was playing with her hair, too, and… wait a second. Was Granger flirting as well? Forget Blaise — was Granger, was she...? He had not even once considered that possibility. Studying her closely, Draco concluded that she looked too… something for a lesbian. Then again, did people look different when they were queer?

He continued to observe her, ignoring the way his blood rushed south. Granger was likely a modern sort who didn't care about any of that, one way or the other. He could virtually hear her admonishing him. _'Don't be silly. It's about the person, not the body parts.'_

He leaned back and crossed his legs, hiding his out-of-control appendix. Besides, he was not in love with Granger, so what did he care about her bedroom activities.

Blaise and Granger stopped their flirting or whatever it was they were doing. The barmaid sashayed away and both turned to face him almost simultaneously.

'So?' Blaise raised an eyebrow expectantly. 'You wanted to elaborate on your problem.'

Granger nodded seriously.

Draco cleared his throat. 'Well…,' he began, giving a little waver to his voice, 'it's rather difficult to describe…' His fingers kept playing with the tankard. He fixed his gaze to the table, wary of giving away his true feelings. '...and also slightly embarrassing...'

Granger leaned forward. Draco chanced a look at them. Curiosity was painted all over her face, but Blaise was staring at him with a blank expression, probably expecting some sort of weak excuse for his behaviour.

'...and—' he hesitated briefly, before deciding to really follow Longbottom's example, and lean into this vulnerable persona. Insecurity would definitely get him points with Granger, and wasn't winning her over the real goal? '—Well, you see, it started on Saturday.' He hesitated. His hands fiddled with the mug. It looked as if it was performing a tiny dance across the wooden surface.

'Did you dream something?' Granger asked, voice uneven. Blaise continued to stare, arms crossed and both eyebrows slightly raised. He wasn't buying it. Draco had to up his game.

'Erm, well… you could say that.' He stopped again and decided to go all-in for the insecurity bit. 'So you see, the last couple of nights starting with Saturday, I have been dreaming, every night—' He stopped for dramatic effect and peeked at his companions. Granger seemed to be literally on the edge of her seat, her hand clenched around her butterbeer. Blaise uncrossed his legs.

Good. His left closed firmly around the cool pewter handle.

'I dreamt pretty strange, uncomfortable things —' Blaise leaned forward; Granger's knuckles were turning white around the mug. He suppressed the urge to grin; he wasn't there quite yet. '—about my time at Hogwarts.' He halted again and studied Granger's face. The deepness in her eyes caught him off guard and cut through him. He averted his gaze, again, studying the patterns the grain was making on the table. There was a faint swoosh in his ears and his heart was suddenly racing for no apparent reason.

'Hogwarts?' Blaise echoed with disbelief. 'That's it?'

'It wasn't just about school. It was—' Draco swallowed; he suddenly felt parched. His licked his lips and took a hasty swig of butterbeer. As he put the mug down, it toppled and fell, spilling the pitiful rest all over the surface.

'Fuck!'

He reached for his wand but Granger was quicker. In the blink of an eye, the mess had disappeared. 'Thank you,' he mumbled. Unsure what to do with his hands, he pressed his palms against the table, fingertips curling slightly against the rough wooden surface. He suddenly felt very awkward. Honesty, even pretend-honesty was harder than he had anticipated. 'It was about…' He swallowed with difficulty. He needed another drink; something to get rid of the lump that had materialised in his throat. '... about what...' The air between them was coiling from an acute tension; the silence was burning in Draco's ears. He closed his eyes and fixed his mind on what she wanted to hear. '...what I fucking did at school.' He choked on nothing. He heard his companions shifting in their seats. He clenched his teeth before forcing himself to look into Granger's eyes again. He needed her on his side.

The effect hit him like another bludger to head. Her eyes were like deep, dark mirrors; magical mirrors that sucked him in and wouldn't let him leave. His mind was spinning; memories he couldn't quite make out were flashing before his eyes. With all the power he could muster he thought of what she needed to hear. 'Every night since Saturday I've been dreaming about all the fucking stupid things I did to you and your friends.' He vomited the words out like slugs. He thought of Weasley. He thought of laughing at Weasley who was vomiting slugs.

Granger's breath hitched and Blaise's mouth fell slack.

Good. Draco ignored the bitter taste in his mouth.

He concentrated on the table, doing his best to block out his out of control body. He could be patient and controlled. He could show them that he could grovel. He could pretend to be honest. He could win over Granger.

'Seeing all the shitty things I did wasn't…' he hesitated. The wooshing in his ears grew louder and louder until something within him snapped. 'It was fucking shit, alright?' The words spilt out of him. His face burned but he kept his voice as even as possible. Patience. He sucked in a breath. The air tasted of flowers and vanilla, and it made his head spin. 'That stupid incident with the hippogriff… all the times I called you names, how I teased you…' His stomach twisted at the memory of Granger running away crying and covering her mouth and "I see no difference" while he was howling with laughter. He was always howling with laughter. It echoed in his ears in synch with the _swoosh-swoosh-swoosh_. '— all the times I sold you out to fucking Umbridge— the Room of Hidden Things—' His voice was raspy again. Something bulky seemed to be lodged deep in his throat and he coughed. Draco tried not to think of being trapped between towering stacks of things burning like dead, menacing trees, swaying dangerously, threatening to bury him alive... His entire body felt as if he was in hell again. He breathed in, slowly, steadily. He had escaped death. They had escaped death, together. He sucked in another breath. Granger. He didn't need to look up; he felt her gaze burning on his face. '—I was never bothered by any of it. Fuck, I never even thought about it. So when it came back to me so suddenly—' cautiously, he lifted his head and his eyes met Granger's.

Suddenly, the floor beneath him seemed to have vanished, despite him being rooted in a chair, and his hands firmly planted onto the table. His throat constricted again, and he focused on Granger's face, on Granger's calm and familiar face and her eyes, her calm, understanding, deep brown eyes that were looking at him so softly. The gardenia and the vanilla in the air were soothing him, and the words kept pouring out of him. '—so when it suddenly all came back to me, after all these years, I just assumed that magic was involved. It had to be. Why else would it be happening? But I suppose it was just…' Draco clenched his teeth, without tearing his eyes away from the calming vision of Hermione. 'Just guilt. Deep-seated, ugly guilt for being a twat. Fo never apologising. For just going on, with the same idiotic beliefs, and for just continuing the same fucking shit even after the war. Meeting you felt—' He licked his lips. 'It was unsettling. There you were, obviously friends with someone who hadn't been exactly nice to you at school. Better even. You were happy to help out a friend of his, even if that friend had been a complete and utter shit to you.'

Draco grimaced. He was completely exhausted from the way the words had poured out of him as if a dam had broken; as if something within him had just waited for the opportunity to do so.

Despite all of this, his body felt feather-light, as though he was floating, or lying in a bed of flowers. The annoying sound in his ears had stopped, but his heart was still beating frantically and something in his veins seemed as if it was buzzing. With difficulty, he peeled his eyes away from Granger's. Blaise was staring at him with an odd expression. It sobered him immediately.

'I guess what I'm trying to say is that... um... sorry for, um, everything, but particularly—' His fingernails scraped over the wood as he struggled to get the right words out.

'It's alright, Draco.' Granger regarded him with an expression that was deep and soft but somehow also earnest at the same time. 'Really, I appreciate this. It can't have been easy admitting this. But it's all right now. Thank you.' She smiled at him and reached over the table to where his hands pressed against the surface. The instant she took them in hers an electric spark erupted. It raced through his body and shook his core. His heart jumped into his throat. It felt as if... as if—

Hermione coughed awkwardly and disentangled her hands from his. Only then did he notice how tightly he had been holding her.

'Yes, right. Thanks. That's a relief.' He needed a drink. Blaise shifted in his chair and Draco blinked. 'Anyway, that was why I got so angry.' He cleared his throat, and leaned back into his chair, crossing his legs.

'You don't say,' Blaise said drily.

'Don't ruin it, you dolt,' Hermione hissed.

Blaise opened his mouth to retort, but just then their food arrived, sparing Draco from reflecting on how his pretend-apology had ceased feeling pretend a lot quicker than he was ready to admit.

The rest of their lunch was pretty uneventful — not counting the surprise Draco got when he found himself in front of a plate of fish and chips he didn't recall ordering. Of course, Blaise had to make a stupid comment that Draco was trying a little too hard to come across as common. But Draco didn't want to sabotage his own plan, so he temporarily postponed shrivelling Blaise's balls to the size of elderberries. Other than that, the rest of the hour was rather enjoyable, particularly since Granger was incredibly easy to talk to, which, in turn, made it easy to ignore the odd expression that would cross Blaise's face every once in a while.

By the time they had finished their meals, the weather outside had evolved into a proper storm. Draco felt almost giddy. Predictably, Blaise had insisted on paying. He was now flirting, again, with the woman over at the bar. Draco followed Granger to wait by the fireplace. This was his moment.

'Such a shame about the weather, isn't it?'

Hermione laughed. 'If you have to stay in London, indeed it is. Aren't you going back to Wiltshire?'

Draco hesitated; this was it. 'Not yet. Unfortunately, I will have to go back to _Sh!_ first.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, why's that, Malfoy? Read all the literature already?' Blaise had appeared behind them. He grinned widely, showing his teeth.

Draco clenched his jaw. Only now did he realise that not once had he opened any of the books. His good mood dampened slightly at the unbidden thought that he probably wouldn't need them any time soon anyway.

'I've left my umbrella there.'

'What?' Blaise narrowed his eyes. 'And by "the umbrella" I hope you're not referring to the one I had made for you in Napoli.'

'Unfortunately, yes.'

Blaise rolled his eyes. 'You're such a brat.'

Hermione puckered her lips. 'Stop being like that, Blaise. We can just go and fetch it.'

'Don't you have to go back to the ministry?'

'I don't actually,' Granger said, reddening slightly. 'I finished today's work hours ago. The bill's as good as passed anyway,' she added quickly, chin raised. 'And even if I hadn't, it would be none of your business what I did with my time.'

'Look at you, Granger, skiving off work.' Blaise grinned. 'I must say, maybe Malfoy is having a good influence on you after all.' He turned to Draco. 'Take good care of her, old boy.' His eyes sparkled. 'I'd hate to have to curse you again. Anyway,' he said, ignoring Draco's glare, 'important international business and all that, so ciao, darlings, I've got to run. See you on Wednesday, Drakey. See you on Saturday, Principessa!' Smirking, he turned on the spot. There was a crack, and Blaise was gone.

Granger, still looking flushed, turned towards him. 'All right. Shall we?' She grabbed her things and swiftly made towards the exit to Muggle London. When they had almost reached the door, she abruptly stopped. Draco, who had been following hot on her heels, ran straight into her.

Although it barely hurt, Draco felt the power of the impact resonating through him, her body against his, as if they had been pressed together for an eternity. It was as if all his senses were suddenly attuned to the tiniest details of her against him; the shape of her bum, the softness of her curves, as he grabbed her so she wouldn't fall. Granger turned around, eyes wide, burning eyes as her face was suddenly just a breath away from his. Her eyes, so deep already, were becoming darker and darker. Her pupils were dancing as they met his gaze. The black almost swallowed the pattern of maroon and with specks of amber, and it was a mesmerising sight. For some reason, he had stopped breathing; his entire body had turned rigid. Still, he could feel the heat of her body and her frantically fluttering pulse as his hands skirted along her sides.

His gaze slowly slid over her face, lingering on the curve of her mouth, and he barely noted that she was mirroring his actions. Her lips were the precise shade of those roses that were blooming in the Manor gardens around the time of his birthday. The shape of her lips though was something else entirely. They were the shape of sin, the shape of temptation, of kiss-me-now, right now. Once again, the air around them was flowers and vanilla, and Draco finally realised that it was her scent. The scent that had been following him all morning, all night, all weekend. Holding her, having her close felt entirely new and eerily familiar at the same time. Like coming home. He dipped his head and Granger's breath hitched.

'Excuse me. You're blocking the entrance.'

A Muggle-clad elderly witch shoved them none too gently aside. Draco straightened his back, moved away even further. His face was burning.

'Sorry.' Granger's voice was raspy and her cheeks were tinted pink. 'You need Muggle attire…' Without looking at him, she performed several elegant movements with her hand. Draco looked down. Instead of his robes, he was wearing a pair of dark grey jeans over his dragonhide boots and a cream-coloured coat. Underneath, he felt the softness of expensive fabric. Granger had taste.

Unfortunately, the trousers hid his erection with far less success than his robes had.

'Thank you.'

'You're welcome,' she said while studying his shoes.

'Um… after you.' Draco made a wave with his hand, signalling her to go first. Without looked back at him, Granger stepped into the streets. Draco followed her, taking painstakingly care not to accidentally brush against her again.

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A/N: Yes, I feel adequately horrible. I'm so very sorry for keeping you all waiting for so long. I could bore you with the details, but the gist is, writing doesn't come naturally to me, which is why this needed a lot of work. If you do, indeed, care for my boring sob story, come visit me on tumblr (TheLastLynx) or twitter (at TheLastLynX), I'd love to chat. In fact, I'd love to hear from you, period - be it over on tumblr and twitter, or here in the form of comments. Please know that I do encourage constructive criticism. This is as much a journey for me, as it is for you, and I intend to learn something :)  
Thank you for everyone who sent comments or messages about their continuing interest in the story. You don't even know how much impact you have. 3  
Anyway, this story should be approaching its end. I would guess there are only about three more chapters to go. If you have any suggestions, this would the time to let me know! :) Until next time! Lots of love, Lynx  
p.s. Did you notice it's a birthday update again?Happy birthday, Harry! Happy birthday, Jo!

p.p.s. If you're still reading: Congrats for being insatiable. This update of the update happened because I'm trying to get Chapter 6 straight, so there might be a proper update happening sometime in the not so distant future...


	6. Chapter 6: On the Brink

A/N: This chapter takes off immediately where Chapter 5 ended. So you might want to re-read at least the last few paragraphs of Chapter 5... Alpha by sarenia, beta by frogster.

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 **Sh-Shopping Spree  
Chapter 6  
 _On the Brink_**

* * *

Hermione's mind and body were spinning out of control, and it said everything about her present state that they were already almost at Charing Cross station by the time she realised that there were a lot quicker ways to get to her Shoreditch flat and _Sh!_. She must have been tomato-red in the face when she admitted as much to Draco, yet he hardly seemed to notice. In fact, from the way his entire expression brightened she could only imagine how relieved he must be about not using the tube. It did not, however, spare her the embarrassment of re-entering the Leaky Cauldron barely ten minutes after their mortifying almost-kiss-and-exit. Eyes fixed to the floor, she crossed the pub as fast as she could without actually running, and practically jumped into the fireplace. She barely remembered to give Draco her address.

It really was fortunate that Hermione didn't plan on going back to Whitehall today. Being close to Draco brought her to the brink of insanity. All she smelled was cedar and Draco, bergamot and Draco. Everything was _Draco_. And then there was the way she had reacted when they were actually touching. The way her skin had been buzzing from the slightest of his touches, the fire that had spread through her body when he held her… If there ever had been a shred of a doubt, her recent experiences confirmed that the Sublime Dream was, indeed, at work.

So as she spun home, her mind too was spinning, round and round, nocturnal phantasies and real experiences mixing, melting, permeating until all that was left was a great yearning for only _him_. She could still feel his body against hers. The way the muscles rippled under his robes. The gentleness of his arms as he grabbed her. The burning in his eyes when his face was suddenly just a breath away from hers, coming closer and closer and almost—

Hermione landed on all fours on her living room floor. She coughed up soot, her fingers digging into the faded orange and purple pattern of her carpet to steady herself, not even caring about the creosote stains she left behind.

She scrambled up, swearing under her breath as she fumbled for her wand. Sparks erupted as she slashed it through the air, vanishing the black spots but adding a couple of singe marks due to her hasty execution.

' _For Christ's sake.'_

Hermione grimaced at the now ruined faux-Persian rug her grandmother had forced onto her. On the other hand, she thought, maybe this was the chance to finally throw out the ugly old thing. Or maybe she ought to wait until she and Draco—

 _Fuck!_

With a start, she realised that she probably had less than a minute to make herself and her flat presentable. Wand at the ready, she raced upstairs—through the study, where the tell-tale tomes on sex magyck were the first things to vanish—and then into her bedroom. A flick of her wrist sent the wooden chest with the toys, elixirs, and potions flying under the bed. It banged against the wall, the vials clinking dangerously, but Hermione was so stressed she hardly cared. She was already halfway out the door when she spotted a pair of stray knickers. They, too, sailed through the air and into the laundry basket. She sprinted out and slammed the door behind her, just to be sure. It banged so loudly as if it was about to fall out of its frame.

She continued whirling through her flat in half-panic, half-excitement, slashing and swishing and flicking her wand, sending stuff flying in all directions. It didn't calm her much that, generally speaking, she was the epitome of order and organisation. Her neurotic habit of checking everything thrice was the exact opposite of help.

Somewhere a clock chimed and Hermione, wheezing for breath and about to reorganise her sofa cushions for the third time, stopped in her tracks.

The cushions plopped down. One tumbled over the edge.

She was a sweaty mess, and, even worse, her knickers were in quite a state. Inconveniently, that fact aroused her even more. She rubbed her thighs against each other. After a furtive glance at her wristwatch and the still dormant fireplace, she sprinted up to the bathroom. The door fell into its frame and the bathroom-mirror rattled against the wall.

'Careful, missy! What are we in such a rush for, hum?' Hermione scowled at the cheeky thing. 'If you're not careful with the frowning you'll get wrinkles all over. And the stress. It doesn't do your complexion a lot of good, I don't think.' The mirror made a couple of disapproving noises and Hermione clenched her teeth. 'There, there. Take a breather. And then you'd better clean yourself up before anyone sees you like this.'

It didn't help at all that the old thing was right. Hermione's head was enveloped by a halo of flyaways, her cheeks stained with specks of magenta — and then, of course, there was that slippery mess between her legs. Thankfully, that last bit went unnoticed by the judgemental mirror.

She braced herself on the sink and forced herself to exhale, slowly and deeply.

Inhale. Exhale.

Stop and breathe, her mum would always say, or you're gonna muck it all up anyway.

Downstairs, she heard the fireplace roar to life.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

She splashed a bit of water onto her face and rummaged through the mirror cabinet for wipes. With haste, she cleaned up the sticky mess between her legs and waved her wand to right her disorderly clothes.

After a last glance in the mirror, Hermione flew out of the bathroom, half-way confident that she was prepared for whatever happened next, and ignoring the disapproving tutting that followed her on the way out.

While looking for Granger, Draco had found his way into the kitchen, where he had stumbled across a couple of pamphlets. Not that he had been snooping; lurid colours blinking out of a partially closed drawer would have grabbed anyone's attention, really.

Bright pink letters were flashing across the front of the broadsheet, appearing and disappearing. "Awareness Is Bliss," it said. In the background, the dark silhouettes of a witch and a wizard on brooms were zooming in and out of the frame. Frowning, he brought it closer and realised all of a sudden that both figures on the front were naked. Heat spread over his neck and rushed downward.

'Oh, there you are!'

He instantly dropped his arm, hiding the pamphlet behind his back.

Granger was casually leaning in the doorway as though she had been there all day. He really wanted to know how she always managed to appear so collected and in charge. Her skirt was pressed and the collar of her blouse was stiff like… He coughed.

'Hello there.'

'Shall we go then?' She smiled, and Draco had to distract himself from the deep red of her lips. It was the exact shade of red that he had imagined smeared all over... He shuffled. Once again, his trousers were getting a little uncomfortable in certain places. He really ought to apply a charm to hide his situation before they went on their way.

A faint drumming sound, gradually increasing in speed, startled them both and they looked to the windows. Also here, it had started to rain.

'Oh,' Granger said, frowning at the clouds visible between the houses. They were looking suspiciously dark. ' _Sh!_ isn't that far from here, but that looks pretty horrid. I'll better fetch an umbrella.' She disappeared again. Draco heard the clicking sound of a cupboard door opening and then rummaging.

He picked up the pamphlet again and unfolded it.

 _ **Awareness Is Bliss. Making Wizarding England More Pleasurable, One Orgasm at a Time.**_

'Got it!' Granger had materialised again. Panicked, Draco looked up, heat spreading from his cheeks down his back. This time, he didn't manage to hide the flier.

'Oh, you've found our brochure.'

'Your..?'

'It's a sex ed campaign Blaise and I started it a while ago when—' She paused. It was almost unnoticeable but of course, Draco did notice. '—we realised the state of sexual education amongst younger witches and wizards…er, pure-bloods especially…'

'Solely for educational purposes, eh?' Draco raised an eyebrow at her.

'Well, to be perfectly honest,' she looked a bit sheepish, 'it sort of started as a remedy against bad sex.' She laughed lightly and looked away.

Against— _fuck_. Of course, by now, Draco had understood all too well that the image of Little Miss Proper was nothing but a glorified wank fantasy. But fuck. How experienced was Granger exactly? To avert the situation in the downstairs department from becoming too tense, he picked up the pamphlet. Granger and Zabini had founded the group. Why was that bloody bastard always involved?

'Why Blaise?' he asked as conversationally as he could.

'Aside from the obvious reasons, you mean?' She looked slightly puzzled. That, in turn, confused Draco but he just nodded. 'Well, other than that he is one of the few people who do not shy away from conversations about sex, he's frank. I like that.'

'Ah.' Something inside of Draco made him hesitant to follow that line of inquiry. He had worked quite hard to be rid of Blaise, after all. But he desperately wanted to know what sort of relationship they had. Also, she liked people who were frank.

'And that's how you came to be friends?'

Granger explained that they had bonded during a tiresome ministry function when she was struggling to get rid of a snubbed admirer. Smiling, she then volunteered the information that Blaise and she had only ever been friends.

Draco felt delighted to hear this. His skin crawled at the mere idea of Blaise— or any other person, come to think of it— touching Granger.

'Was there a particular reason why you started it?' he asked casually, overtly leafing through the pamphlet. He skimmed the text while actually waiting for her explanation.

She looked at him for a brief moment, her expression curiously unreadable. 'Well...' She paused and her eyes flickered to her kitchen window. Heavy drops were pounding against the glass. The trails of streaming water were painting vertical patterns and made the outside seem blurry and unreal. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked back at him.

'I just realised that many... witches and wizards lack sexual education and that, in turn, negatively affects their relationships. There.' She took the pamphlet out of his hand and tapped it with twice with her wand.

' _Expandio_.'

The pamphlet turned into a small but thick booklet. Draco leafed through it, this time with his attention fixed on the content and not on the witch standing suddenly so very close to him, with this delicious flowery scent permeating his senses that made him want to engage in a very different sort of deflowering, so to speak.

There was an overflow of general information about the "Anatomy of the Penis" and the "Anatomy of the Vagina" on the first few pages. Draco's eyes grew wide on the other topics that were covered. He was just skimming "Orgasm — how do I get there?", when she coughed.

She smiled slightly and held up the umbrella. 'Erm… should we go then? You can keep that, of course.' She glanced towards the front door and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

'Of course,' Draco said, wondering if he was imagining the slightly redder tint on her cheeks. He pocketed the pamphlet and followed her out the door into the rain, feeling slightly dizzy. He only just remembered to charm his trousers to conceal his stiffy.

It was fortunate that the shop was a mere five-minute walk from her flat because they had to share an umbrella. Under normal circumstances that would've been innocent enough. Today, though, Draco's head felt increasingly light-headed and dizzier with every step he took. He tried not to look down at Granger beside him too often, painfully aware as he was of her presence. It must have been the lack of sleep because his out-of-control subconscious was starting to affect him very badly. All his mind seemed capable of was thinking about Granger; Granger bent over a table in the potions classroom, Granger in an alcove in the library, Granger up against the Vanishing Cabinet, Granger spread out over her kitchen table like a snack…

Never before had sharing an umbrella meant anything else than good manners to him. Now though there seemed to be barely enough space for either of them. He could not avoid brushing against her, and every time he did—for instance, when his hand holding the umbrella grazed her shoulder—a spark raced through his veins, leaving a buzzing sensation ricocheting through his body, egging him on to do all sorts of naughty things he was desperately trying not to think about.

And then there was her scent: the smell of the Manor flowers in the lower gardens during springtime; the notes of spring flowers and baked goods which he had mistaken for his mother's bouquet at breakfast. How silly. It was glaringly obvious now that it was her scent; her scent that had been in his nose since Saturday night.

He wondered why he had not realised it before. The notes of gardenia and vanilla wafted around her like a halo, and it made his head spin. Not that it was unpleasant; on the contrary. It stimulated his body in the best—worst—ways. Maybe he should have skipped that butterbeer at lunch.

Despite all of it, Draco was proud that he was still able to carry a conversation. He asked her a bit more about the origins of the campaign. Granger volunteered that she and Blaise had bonded over wine and the history of sexual freedom. He barely noted her excitement about one of Blaise's ancestors; he was already planning his next move. Thank god for all the inane dinners and garden parties his parents had dragged him to. Even in his state, his _ah_ s and _ohs_ were all in the right places, and Granger, encouraged by that, rattled on… something or other about feminism and a play she had seen just after… after... ten years ago, wherein the female bits had apparently been the protagonist. Draco was mystified by the way her eyes widened as she called it "eye-opening," and the way she looked at him had his mind performing a sharp turn. He suddenly wondered what her quim looked like, and if she looked anything like he had imagined in his dreams...

This had him so wrapped up that he suddenly found himself again in the middle of a discourse on _Sh!_ and its origin history. Granger's eyes were shining and she didn't seem to have noticed his mental faux-pas. Nevertheless, he vowed to use Grandfather's Pensieve as soon as he got home. Granger would probably never forgive him if she found out that he had been far more occupied with the appearance of her lower lips than the words out of her mouth, even though it got increasingly harder not to think about Granger and sex. It was sort of ironic that, at this point, hiding his stiffy was the least of his problems.

Draco felt immense relief when he spotted the now familiar brick building.

The feeling didn't last very long though. Almost as soon as they had entered, he found himself faced with all kinds of toys, lingerie, and literature about all matters related to sex. If the dizzying feeling from before had made it hard to focus, it was nothing compared to standing in a room, surrounded by Granger's scent and all sorts of erotic equipment which he just itched to immediately put to use.

His already colourful imagination went into overdrive. A bright pink vibrator sat on one of the white shelves, but instead he saw Granger on her desk chair pleasuring herself, legs spread wide, cheeks flushed. He turned and saw a crotchless teddy. Immediately, the vision of Granger standing in a library entered his mind; she was wearing nothing but that piece of black lace, reaching for a book conveniently placed on a higher shelf which gave him the optimal view.

Someone laughed and Draco froze, suddenly and awkwardly aware that he was not alone and that he really needed to get ahold of himself. He shifted around, thinking of Snape in the same teddy. Ah… much, much better… sort of. He almost grimaced; this was almost like getting rid of a Boggart. A sex boggart. Yuck.

Granger and the shop assistant were talking animatedly. Draco barely managed a proper greeting. The way she was leaning against the counter supplied his fantasy with too much material. It was as though his body was battling a fever. His limbs were turning hot and numb (except for one appendage), and his mind started slipping. All he was capable of thinking was _Granger in stockings... Granger with nipple tassels... Granger in that dress… over the counter… legs spread and his cock..._

Desperate for a distraction, he turned around and scanned the bookshelves behind him. His eyes immediately found another copy of _Clit-o-logy,_ the book that he had left unopened in the bag in his dressing room after the first night. His poor mind jumped to the dream in the potions classroom where his nocturnal-self had been dedicated to comprehensively studying the female sexual organ.

The blood left his brain.

 _Bloody fuck._

His hands, already hot, were getting clammy. His fingernails dug deeper and deeper into his palm. He was desperate for it to hurt; for any feeling other than arousal, really. To keep his mind out of the gutter. Away from thinking about sex in general. Or sex with Granger in particular. Or how Granger looked when she was stark naked, lying on the floor, her lips wet and swollen, her clit…

Draco bit into his cheek as hard as he could. The sharp sting made him wince. Granger and the woman behind the counter turned to him. The woman frowned.

'Everything alrigh', luv?' she said in a thick Cockney accent, raising a thin eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. 'Fine, thank you.' He thanked the stars above that he had managed to perform a concealing charm on his trousers just in time. Otherwise, he would have been in a sticky situation right about now.

Granger regarded him with a strange expression. Just like earlier, he was magically drawn to her eyes. He found himself wondering why had never noticed how exceptionally dark they were. He couldn't even tell if they were dark brown or black. They seemed so deep and full of knowledge that, for a second, he worried whether she might be a legilimens. The thought that she might see to the bottom of his soul appeared terrifying and comforting at the same time.

Granger, who had been staring back at him, abruptly turned towards the woman and away from him. Draco kept his eyes on her. The slightly shorter hairs on the nape of her neck were standing erect. The skin underneath looked soft and rosy. He had to fight the burning urge to reach out and caress her right there.

'We were looking for an umbrella, actually.' Her voice sounded oddly strained.

The cashier raised the other pencilled eyebrow. 'An umbrella?' She squinted her eyes and looked confusedly from Granger to him. 'Just _an_ umbrella, or are you looking for something specific? Because—'

'Oh right, sorry!' Granger gushed. 'Draco here left his here, on Saturday. Right?' Granger turned around. 'What does it look like again?'

She opened her mouth slightly as if she wanted to say something. But his brain froze and for some reason, he only saw her lips. Those lips. They were painted bright red. It was perfectly professional and utterly naughty at the same time. How had he made it through lunch without only staring at her lips? His mind conjured various images, for example, right about now, he was hard-pressed to think of anything sexier than those lips wrapped around his cock. He wondered idly if the lipstick would leave traces as the lips moved up and down, up and down his shaft, as she moved her head—

'Draco?'

'Hm?'

'The umbrella?'

'Yes. We're looking for my umbrella. The one Blaise gave to me.'

'Yes.' Granger looked slightly pained. She puckered her very dangerous, breathtaking red lips. 'What does it look like again?'

'It's, uh—' He pinched his leg with all the force he could muster. 'It's, uh, black.'

The woman frowned again, although there might have been a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Draco decided that she was odd.

'Let me see if I can find something. Just a second, luves.'

She disappeared through a white door.

Her absence made Granger's presence the dominating force and he was helplessly drawn to her. His entire body was vibrating like an out of control wand, just like when one was desperately holding onto a wand that was Expelliarmus'ed away. His heart, too, was beating erratically. Unfortunately, all the blood rushed downwards. So, pinning her against the counter seemed like an exceptionally good idea to him. She was wearing a skirt, which—

'What did you think of this?'

Draco spun around. Granger was standing at the wall with the shelves, perusing a heavy book. He angled his head. Oh no. Clit-ology again.

'Oh. It's a great read.' His nails were permanently lodged in his leg. Unfortunately, that didn't help his heart from leaping into his throat. 'Exceptionally fascinating.'

'You haven't started it yet, have you?'

'Err… I haven't had the time yet.'

'You haven't?'

'My weekend was sort of... busy.'

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

'What did you do,' she said, playing with a loose curl again. He was hit by another wave of gardenia and vanilla that effectively abrogated the last of his faculties.

'Gardening.'

Draco almost kicked himself. The situation was spiralling out of control. He desperately needed Granger alone to get her to take on his situation.

'Oh!' Granger's eyes widened in surprise. Those eyes again; those mirrors of black and brown that swallowed him whole and left him breathless and mindless, naked and exposed. The oddest part about it was that he didn't seem to mind at all. Instead, he was overcome with the need to be even closer to her. Simultaneously, desire coursed through his veins like fiendfyre. Igneous beasts thundered through his veins, causing a sensation so powerful that he was convinced that his entire body must be vibrating. In fact, these tremors were so strong, so visceral, that they propelled him forward towards Hermione.

Granger was still staring at him transfixed, with that bewildered expression in those deep, dark eyes that made him lose all sense of self. She wet her lips and that tiny action, her tongue slipping out and running along the seam of her lips, which looked so very soft and inviting, made Draco want to…

'I'm really sorry but this the only thing I've… oh.'

His arm froze as Granger whirled around, and the spell was broken. Behind the counter, the shop assistant held up the fucking umbrella Blaise had given to him for his last birthday. Draco had difficulty recalling why exactly he cared about the bloody thing.

'Right, yes, that's the one.' He took it and ignored her suggestive looks that kept drifting a little too low. It made him painfully aware of the dire situation in his downstairs department he seemed unable to contain. At this point, no amount of Snapes in scanty knickers was doing the trick.

'Well…' The woman grinned at them both. The fact that he was in a Muggle shop completely without the aid of magic had never seemed more troubling to him. He would have liked nothing better than whip out his wand and hex her away, or, even better, apparate himself and Granger straight to her flat.

Draco did the only thing that he was able to do. He said his hasty thank you and good-byes. Ignoring the absurd smirking and winking of the shopkeeper, they went on their way. Outside, the drizzle had turned into a proper downpour. Of course, by now, he had his own umbrella. Unfortunately, the additional space between them didn't seem to help at all.

If, this morning, he had thought that something was off, he had been sorely mistaken. Every second he spent in Granger's presence, his situation seemed to have gotten progressively worse. This he realised, even though his brain felt like smothered in flowers and the only part of his body able to function was his dick.

Even in his trance-like state, Draco was well aware that he could hardly distinguish reality from his dreams. It made him do very odd things—things that, usually, he would have never done in a million years, like walking so close to her that he could sniff her hair, or reaching out to feel the softness of her skin again, or kissing her to hear her moan again. Again and again. He hardly knew how he got back to hers without pulling her into a deserted street and shagging her up against a brick wall.

By the time they stepped into her hallway, and Granger, in a show of good manners, offered to make tea, the last shred of control fizzled out like a burnt-out candle. She made it into the living room before he caught her around the waist and pulled her into him with such desperate force that they banged against the large bookcase. A couple of tomes toppled to the floor.

'Be careful, Draco, the boo— oh, ohhhh...'

Draco trailed kisses down her neck, sucking at her skin as he went. 'Forget the bloody books for a second.'

'But it's uh—it's uh—' Draco nipped his way down to her cleavage, as his hands were roaming her body, wandering up her sides, over her breast. He was eager to feel everything at once.

'Oh god.' Granger threw back her head, as his thumbs brushed against her nipples, which were now aroused and clearly visible through the thin material of her blouse.

Draco moaned into her throat.

'I've got to have you, Granger. You're driving me absolutely mad.'

He pulled her head down for another burning kiss. Granger had her eyes half-closed and was making delicious noises that made his already painfully aroused dick throb in his pants.

Draco tugged her blouse out of her skirt, while her fingers fumbled to get his dress shirt off. They both somehow ended up stuck and tumbled to the ground.

'Fuck it.' Draco whipped out his wand and vanished both their clothes.

'Hey! That was my favourite skirt!'

'Don't care,' he said, voice raspy and breathless, 'I'll get you another.'

Whatever Hermione wanted to reply in protest, it was effectively silenced by Draco covering her mouth with his. He pressed himself against her, his legs and his dick settling hot between her legs. He could feel her velvet-slick centre against him and he felt like he was about o explode from all the tension and anticipation coiling like an overstretched rubber band inside of him. She tilted her hips to rub herself against him. They both moaned desperately.

'Fuck, Granger, you're dripping.'

She licked along his throat. 'Yes, and you know why?' She bit his earlobe lightly. 'Because I want you to fuck me.'

Draco's entire body shuddered, and Granger pressed her hands against his back, angling herself upwards. He fumbled between his legs.

He looked into her eyes. There was uncertainty but it was overshadowed by the lust burning in them.

Draco inhaled her scent and pressed his cock, slowly, carefully, into her, her silken depths swallowing him almost too easily.

The moment he was engulfed by her tight, wet heat, he was certain he wouldn't last. Granger really was dripping. He looked down to where they were joined and saw a thick, pearly-white drop of her essence running down his cock. A strangled sound escaped his throat and the grip on her hips tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't handle this. His senses were over-stimulated and he was already feeling like he was on the brink of shooting.

'Please, Draco.' Granger's voice was pure salaciousness. 'Move. I want to feel you.'

He didn't dare to open his eyes and agonisingly slowly, mustering the very last shreds of control he had left, he pulled out of her. His heart was slamming against his ribs and it cost him all his concentration not to think about how her walls pulsed around him; not to think about the deliciously perverse, wet sounds they were making as his dick moved; not to enjoy of the beguiling melody that was Granger groaning in ecstasy.

It was heaven, and it was hell. The way the sounds, smells, touches, everything in and around him compelled him to slam into her with all that he had, yet he had to resist—

'More, Draco!' Granger was panting and moaning. He had heard these sounds before, and he was aching to hear them again and again. 'I want more.'

He tried to take his time, he really did, but Granger edged herself and tilted her hips to get him to go deeper.

He hissed and recited potion instructions in his mind. Stir twenty times clockwise before adding an anti-clockwise stir and the potion should go from colourless to deep burgundy. One stir. Two stirs. Three stirs. The potion should be pink now, just as pink as the beautiful lips of Granger's—

'Oh, yessss.'

Granger threw back her head and reached around his bum to grab his checks. He only now realised that he had started snapping his hips in sync with the reciting of the recipe, rotating in a vaguely counter-clockwise fashion.

Granger was panting. 'Fuck, Draco. I need more. Fuck me. Fuck me!' She widened her legs and he could see her puffy lips glistening with their combined arousal. Their scents lingered in the air, and Draco's head spun. The smell of gardenias and vanilla already drove him wild; the feel of Granger's heat surrounding his cock, swallowing him, inviting him deeper, made him weak; but worst and best of all were the sounds she was making. Her gasping and moaning while she was gyrating on his cock was one thing. Another was her filthy mouth. He already knew he'd become addicted to that mouth.

'Oh god, Draco.' Granger reached out and her fingers caressed his stomach and his chest. 'Give it to me. Please fuck me. Fuck me hard.' Her fingernails dug into his abs, and he inadvertently reacted by burying himself deep within her.

'Yeeessss… Just like that.'

She squirmed and tilted her hips, rubbing herself against him. Draco thought about stirring a potion clockwise, watching the fumes turn from dusky pink to a deeper shade of red. He thought about fumes lingering over his head, so thick that they were obscuring anyone else who was in the classroom, and about a witch bent over a desk, begging him to fuck her harder.

'More, I want _more._ ' Granger was panting, a delicious red spreading over her breast, up her neck and over her cheeks. Her deep eyes were dark and burning with desire. 'Give it to me. Fuck me hard!'

Draco couldn't help it; he snapped his hips and drove into her more deeply. Granger moaned and gyrated her hips, edging him on with those filthy-sweet words, and any semblance of control evaporated. He couldn't stop. He was compelled to bury himself as deeply and firmly in her. Over and over and over. The way she moved against him only motivated him to go harder, faster, deeper into her cunt.

'Oh fuck, yessss. Gosh, your cock feels so bloody good. So bloody fucking good.' Granger's lips were open, smiling. Her pussy lips, which were almost as red, were coating his cock in a silver sheen of arousal.

It only made him need it more. He was burning to feel more of her, all of her.

Draco fell forward. He cradled her head between his arms and kissed her hungrily, tasting her lips and stroking her tongue, as he pounded her into the floor. He forgot everything that had ever mattered to him. There was only chasing that sweet tightness and the growing tingling feeling that kept growing and growing... he revelled in the silky heat surrounding his cock, the way his bollocks hit her cunt, the familiar sensation of the tension within him starting to coil. He pushed himself deeper into her, deeper and deeper, stroke after stroke, until the lights and colours exploded before his eyes, painting all sorts of rays and blooms in the wildest of colours on the back of his lids.

It felt as if he was bursting with energy. He might as well have shot sparks of magic out of his hands. His body shook so hard that he thought he would break a limb, and hot stream after hot stream spurted into her. For a long moment, he felt invincible; as if he could take on anyone or anything. The irrational thought flashed through his mind that if he ever wanted to give the Patronus charm another try, he might try it whilst orgasming inside Granger's perfect, beautiful, tight, wet—

Granger.

The high evaporated in an instant, doused by the bucket of ice-water that was the reality.

Granger was lying beneath him. Her face, still cradled by his arms, was rosy and glowing, her eyes were wide and she was smiling, but…

'Did you..?' Draco watched her closely, his cock still buried deep inside her, was limp and lifeless. Although it was as though he didn't have any bones left, his insides were twisting and knotting. ' _Did_ you?'

She reached up to caress his cheeks. As her warm fingers traced imaginary lines on his cheeks, he realised he was covered in sweat. A drop fell from his face and he realised that he must be crushing her. He tried to move from her, Granger's other hand clamped down on his bum.

'No, stay.' She grabbed his arse. 'Please, I like this.'

His cheeks burned with shame. 'I'm sorry, you didn't…' he looked away, he didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. 'I'm sorry it wasn't that good for you.'

Well, now he knew why Granger had founded her little group. To save herself from pathetic lovers such as himself.

'Oh, stop it, Draco.' There was a sting on his bum.

'Did you just hit me?'

Granger was smirking at him. 'And what if I did?'

Draco sputtered.

'I think you've been a naughty boy and you deserve to be punished.' Her eyes were still deep and dark, and Draco found himself solely occupied by the idea that Granger really ought to have an orgasm. Again, he tried to move, but once again, her hand clamped down on him.

'Stay a little longer, would you?' Her voice was soft, although slightly raspy. 'This is one of the great things about sex.'

' _One_ of the great things?'

'Yes, of course, silly.' She laughed lightly, and his cheeks heated again. He avoided her face and instead distracted himself by stroking her arms. She had incredibly soft skin. He could caress her for hours, he realised.

'There are so many other great things about sex, this for example.' Her hand felt along his cheek and her fingers skirted lightly across his chin and his cheekbones, and then down his neck. 'Intimacy is another. There's nothing like sharing this moment of incredible closeness with someone.'

She titled her head, and he bent down, eager to taste her lips.

* * *

A/N: Dedicated to the lovely reviewers, especially to BoredRavenvlaw620, kyonomiko, AussieSweet, and tmtcltb who have been following from the very beginning! p.s. Hermione was talking about Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues ;)


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